


Humanities

by dettiot



Series: Core Curriculum [5]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-06-06 16:33:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 49,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6761635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years ago, Felicity Smoak walked out of his life.  Now Oliver Queen walks back into hers, needing a favor.  And Oliver Queen always repays his favors.  The final story in the <b><i>Core Curriculum</i></b> series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is both an exciting and a bittersweet moment. I’m so excited, after a lot of work, to be ready to share this fic! But it’s also bittersweet, because I’ll be wrapping up a series I really loved working on. The excitement, though, is edging out anything else right now.
> 
> Many many many thanks to acheaptrickandacheesyoneline who served as my beta, and to andcreation and melsanfo who read all or portions of this fic. andcreation also created the amazing graphic for this fic. In addition, I’m incredibly appreciative of all the support I received during the Countdown to Core Curriculum. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the fic! I’ll be posting a new chapter of this every week on Friday--getting your weekend off to a good start, hopefully. :-)

****His breath comes fast and hard, the faster and harder he runs.  Leaves and sticks crunch under his bare feet, but he barely notices thanks to the thick, leathery skin covering his soles.  Branches whip against his arms and face, but he shoves them aside and keeps running.

There’s a boat.  There’s a boat, finally, after days of waiting, and he can’t afford to miss it.  He just needs to get out of the forest, to the top of the cliff, and to his bow and quiver.  Then he can launch the signal fire and he can . . .

He can go home.

The sting of water against his skin makes Oliver flinch.  He looks up at the cloud-covered sky and the rain hits right in his eyes.  He stumbles to his weapons, sinking a knife into the rock.  His fingers feel cold when he pulls an arrow from his quiver, as he strikes the arrowhead against the knife, just like he's imagined a hundred times.  But the humidity, the rain--there’s no sparks.  

There’s no fire.  

Kneeling on the rocks, Oliver Queen looks up at the sky again, his hood falling back.  His hair and beard, both long and ill-kempt, are getting soaked, but he doesn’t care.  Not anymore.

He’s not going home.  

_Oliver!  Oliver!_

There’s a hand on his arm and Oliver just lashes out.  Attacking his attacker.  

But it’s not an attacker.

It’s his mother.

He is home.

He’s safe.

Isn’t he?

XXX

When Oliver made his decision and began planning his return to Starling City, it had all been so clear.  It had made sense.  And he had even felt a flutter of anticipation.  For the creature comforts: to be warm or cold only if he wished, not because that was the current temperature.  To have as much food as he wanted.  To use a shower, a toilet.    

And then there was his family.  His friends.  Once he returned, he could protect them and keep them safe.  Ever since his visit to Starling City two years ago, he had wondered about them.  Worried about them.  Was Thea still taking drugs?  Was Tommy still partying recklessly?  Was Laurel still mad at him?  

Somehow, he would be able to help.  To reach out to the people he cared about, maybe give them a reason to not give in to their demons.  If only because they could see what demons had done to him.  And with such an example before them, who would choose their own destruction?

It hadn’t worked out like that.  Which he should have anticipated, since after all, why would anyone look at him as an example, as someone to inspire change?  When he was going around town, pretending to be the same old Ollie Queen, playboy and all-around fuck-up?  Instead of what he really was: damaged, broken.  More of a monster than a man.

Pretending to be no different from his old self was the perfect cover.  It made people discount and underestimate him.  It allowed him to vanish unexpectedly, to be unreliable, when his mission required him.  Everyone assumed that after what he had experienced, he wanted to act like the last five years hadn't happened.  That he wanted everything to go back to normal.  And normal meant being Ollie Queen.

But the problem was . . . being Ollie didn’t fit him.  It had begun to chafe even before he had gotten on the Queen’s Gambit.  But now, after what he had done, what he had learned . . .

He could never be Ollie again.

But he had to pretend.  It was for the best.  He just had to keep remembering that fact so he wouldn't slip.  Wouldn't arouse suspicions in others.  He knew how to lie, how to dissemble.  But it was much easier to lie to strangers than to lie to his nearest and dearest.  It had alarmed him when Tommy had questioned him during his welcome home party.  Questioning if he was the same old Ollie Queen, making Oliver wonder if his best friend had seen too much when they had been abducted.  Did Tommy know?  Had Tommy realized that it was Oliver, not some man in a green hood, that had killed those men?

Enough.  This brooding got him nowhere.  Stripping off his shirt, Oliver dropped to the cement floor of his secret hideout and began a series of push-ups to loosen his muscles.  To think, once a hard workout was five push-ups after a lackadaisical run on the treadmill.  Now, he used push-ups as a warm-up.

Worrying about what Tommy might know, about the discomfort of being Ollie, got him nowhere.  He had other problems, ones that required action.

Like what to do about his inquisitive bodyguard.

He hasn't anticipated his mother foisting a bodyguard on him.  The attack on his second day home was turning out to be all bad luck.  Because not only had it apparently raised suspicions in Tommy, but it had netted him John Diggle, who was entirely too observant and persistent.

Realistically, it was just a matter of time before Diggle would know who he was.  But Oliver wanted it to be in the future, when he had done more to save Starling City.  Enough that he might be able to convince Diggle of the good he was doing, so the ex-soldier wouldn't immediately turn against him.

John Diggle could be a resource, Oliver knew.  His service record, his personal history--it made him someone Oliver could use.  But so far, Oliver had seen no signs that Diggle had any flexibility in his morality or ethics.  His viewpoint was black and white, good and bad.  Such a viewpoint couldn’t exist in Oliver's gray world.

Standing up, his muscles fully prepared, Oliver began his real workout.  Feeling the burn, the sweat pour down his body, let his mind go blank and his thoughts untangle.

Someday, he would have to tell Diggle who he was.  And when that day came, Oliver knew it was likely he would have to face a choice.  Either John Diggle would accept Oliver's offer to become part of his crusade, or . . . well, he wouldn't, and then Oliver would have to terminate him.

There was no pleasure in the thought.  Oliver truly did not want to be forced to kill Diggle.

No one could know his secret.  Knowing that Diggle would be an asset in the field meant Oliver was willing to include him in the mission.  But if Diggle did not want to join up, Oliver couldn't trust him to keep his secret.

Nothing could get in the way of his vow to right his father’s wrongs and save his city.  Not Diggle, not Laurel, not his family.

Nothing.

XXX XXX

The one downside to no one knowing his secret?  When it came to things he couldn’t do, it was difficult, to say the least, to get assistance with the problem.  

Oliver couldn’t help glaring at the laptop he had recovered from Deadshot.  Up until now, the computer knowledge he had picked up from his time with ARGUS and the Bratva had been enough.  Barely, but enough.  But this?  A computer riddled with bullet holes?  That was well beyond him.  But he needed to know what was on this laptop.  Walter was in danger, and he wouldn’t stand by and let his mother lose a second husband.  

Plus, there was the annoying fact that Floyd Lawton had slipped his grasp.  Gotten away from him.  Lawton might be a hired gun instead of one of the city’s elites, but he represented what was wrong in Starling City.  He was just as dangerous as the names on the List.  Lacking any kind of morality, like the people he hunted.  The powerful could hire people to do their dirty work, whether it was cleaning their toilets or killing their enemies.  And the fact that Lawton had been hired to eliminate a name on the List didn't matter.  He was operating in Oliver's city and he needed to be removed.   

But taking out Lawton hinged on this laptop, but he wasn’t able to do anything to retrieve the information.    

He needed a professional.

Given that the Hood couldn’t exactly walk into the nearest Tech Village, this was something he would have to figure out as Oliver Queen.  

With a grimace, Oliver contemplated what to do.  He might have thought to talk to Tommy, say he needed advice about computers, but now that he knew definitively about Tommy and Laurel . . .

Tommy was his best friend.  Oliver knew how much the feelings of guilt and betrayal must have eaten at him.  While Tommy knew he had Oliver’s blessing, there was also something to be said for steering a wide berth for a little while.  

Besides, who would Tommy know that could do anything with computers?  

No, there were other resources available to him.  A whole company’s worth.  

Picking up his cell phone, Oliver dialed Walter’s number, as programmed in by his mother before she had handed over the phone.  He could just imagine how pleased it would make his mother, discovering that Oliver had reached out to Walter.  

But that wasn’t the real reason he contacted Walter.  He needed the best that Queen Consolidated had available, and it would save time to just ask Walter who was the best in the IT department.  

“Hi, Walter, it’s Oliver,” he said when his stepfather answered.  And how odd it was, to have a stepfather.  

“Oliver, hello!  A pleasure to hear from you.”  

“Thank you,” Oliver said, slipping into old patterns, just like always.  “I had a favor to ask of you.”  

There was the barest of pauses before Walter spoke.  “Of course, Oliver.  Whatever I can provide.”  

“It’s nothing big,” Oliver said, thinking of the kind of favors that Ollie Queen had asked for in the past: an attorney, money, an excuse for standing up one girl in order to sleep with another.  “I just need to know who’s the best in Queen Consolidated’s IT department.  I’m having computer problems.”  

“Oh, really?  I’m sorry to hear that.  I can certainly assist you--there’s a young woman I’ve had my eye on for a few months now.  Someone who’s ready for more but keeps refusing promotions, according to her supervisor.”  

Oliver didn’t care.  While the fact that this best person was a female might help him--he could turn on the charm and keep her off-balance enough that she wouldn't think anything of his request--it really didn’t matter.  He just needed a name.  But he couldn’t say that, of course.  He had to keep up his act.  “Oh?”

“Yes.  And from my own evaluation, her work is top-notch.”  

“Great,” Oliver said.  “What’s her name?”  

“Felicity Smoak,” Walter said, his British accent putting an extra emphasis on the name.  “She’s who you need to talk to.”  

Now that he had a resource, Oliver felt a faint stirring of hope.  A sense that he would be able to untangle this problem and keep Walter safe.  “Thank you.  I appreciate it, Walter.”  

“Of course, Oliver. You know you can ask anything of me,” Walter replied, his voice dropping into a slightly lower register, indicating his sincerity.  If his mother had to give him a stepfather, give Thea a stepfather, Oliver couldn’t fault Moira on her choice.  

“I’ll see you at home for dinner,” Oliver told Walter before he hung up.  He looked at the notepad, taking in the name he had written down and then absent-mindedly circled.  

Felicity . . . why did that name sound familiar?  It was an unusual one, yes, but he didn’t know that he had--Wait.  He _had_ met a Felicity before.  That night at BU, or was it Harvard?  Oliver couldn’t remember.  After attending four colleges, and what he did at those schools, it was hard to place the memories of his early twenties in the right order.  

Whatever--he remembered now where he had heard that name before.  It had been the summer before he got on the Queen’s Gambit, when he was in prime Ollie mode.  Screwing around with Tommy, blowing off his family if he didn’t need something.  On-again off-again with Laurel--and usually cheating on her when they were on.  Including a one-night stand with a goth girl.  She was named Felicity.  A name that hadn’t fit her at all.  

Shaking his head, Oliver stood up.  Even if Felicity was an uncommon name, there was no way his one-night stand from five years ago had ended up working at his family’s company, let alone catching the eye of his stepfather.  

That was just impossible.  And given what Oliver Queen had seen, he didn’t use that word lightly.

XXX

Starling City represented a median between Felicity Smoak’s previous homes.  On one hand, there was the constant heat and dryness of Las Vegas, the city where she had grown up.  On the other, there was Boston, with its four seasons and its extremes of humidity and snow.  While Starling City was often damp or rainy, it never got as cold as it did in Boston, nor as hot as Las Vegas.  

It was a good city in which to make your home when you were a woman looking to blend in.  To be invisible.

That was what she wanted.  It wasn't that she was laying low, like the con artists did in Vegas when a con went bad.  No, she was choosing to keep a low profile, just in case.  It had been over two years since . . .

Taking a breath, Felicity tapped away on her keyboard, easily diagnosing the problem.  She turned to her other computer, her fingers flying as she downloaded the needed software to a flash drive.  Then she moved the flash drive to the other computer, remotely installing the updated drivers on the computer of the accounting department’s vice-president.

Thank goodness she could do this remotely.  The accounting VP had the worst breath she had ever encountered, and Felicity had gone to MIT with a lot of boys with shaky hygiene standards.

She lifted up the headset of her desk phone and dialed the VP’s number.  “Mr. Charles?  I installed the software and everything should be working now.”

“Oh . . . yes, it's working.  Thank you, Felicia.”

Correcting him was pointless, so Felicity just smiled tightly.  “You're welcome, Mr. Charles.  Have a nice day.”

Hanging up the phone, Felicity gazed at her computers.  It was eleven-thirty and all of her assigned work was done.  Not just for today, but for the rest of the week.  Considering that it was Wednesday, Felicity gave herself a mental fist pump.  Most weeks, she was all done by Tuesday afternoon.  Which left her twenty-one work hours filled with tech support and trying to look busy.

It wasn't that she was lazy or unambitious.  Neither were true.  She got all her work done so quickly because she was a genius.  The assignments she was given as a junior IT technician were so easy for her and as hard as she tried, she couldn't go slow enough to stretch it out.

And Felicity knew she wanted more than this.  She wanted to actually use her degree, to develop programs to protect her employer's resources, to create new programs and processes, to make something amazing . . .

The problem was, she already has created something amazing.  And it had all blown up in her face.

The x-axis bi-numeric algorithm she had programmed at MIT was the result of a solid month of work.  The idea had come to her in class, from a professor who had claimed it would be impossible.  That had been like waving a red flag in front of a bull.  The girl she used to be took that kind of challenge and set out to prove people wrong.  She had been so angry, so defiant.  So certain that she knew more than anyone else.

So certain that nothing bad would happen.  Because yes, the algorithm was potentially dangerous, but it had only been about proving she could do it.  She had never stopped to consider that because she could do something, she should.  Like the scientists in _Jurassic Park_ , splicing genes and taking shortcuts to bring back dinosaurs without thinking about the unintended consequences.

Even though she was a genius, she had been so dumb.  If it hadn't been for her big mouth, if she hadn't wanted to impress Cooper . . .

Felicity squeezed her eyes shut.   _Woulda, coulda, shoulda_.  The words echoed in her mother's voice, which made the sentiment doubly frustrating.  

Lifting up her glasses with one hand, Felicity carefully wiped under each eye with a finger, not wanting to smudge her mascara.  Or look like she was crying at work.  It had been two years; just the thought of Cooper shouldn't make her cry.  

Maybe someday she would rediscover the anger she had once felt towards him, for using her algorithm to cause mayhem within the Department of Education’s servers.  Maybe the anger could someday blot out the guilt and shame for her part in Cooper’s death.  Maybe then she would be able to move past her biggest mistake: creating the algorithm in the first place.

She just wanted to move on.  To not feel like she was cheating on Cooper if she smiled at another man.  To stop feeling responsible for how her algorithm had given people false hope that their student loans were gone.  She wanted to have a little of her kickass back.

She wanted to stop dwelling on her mistakes.  

Rolling her shoulders, Felicity focused her gaze on her computer.  She had been contemplating a debugging project--now seemed like the perfect time to get started on it.  Plucking a red pen from her pencil cup, she started opening files, preparing to revise her code and make it more streamlined, more elegant.  

It was soothing work.  She got lost in her own world, losing touch with everything happening around her.  And then, she dimly heard a throat being cleared.

“Felicity Smoak?”

Her eyes widened as she slowly turned her head.  Because . . . she knew that voice.

“Hi.  I’m Oliver Queen,” said the voice, belonging to a man from her past.  Another one of her mistakes.

XXX

This wasn’t what he had expected.

When he had stepped out of the elevator on the eighteenth floor and walked into the IT department, he had been looking for long, black hair and a pair of cynical, guarded blue eyes.  Getting directions to Felicity’s desk, Oliver had made his way through a sea of cubicles towards one of the offices along the back wall.  At the half-open door he had paused, his eyes narrowing.

There was only one person in the office, sitting at a desk with a red marker between her plump, brightly-painted lips.  So that had to be Felicity Smoak.

But . . . _that_ was Felicity?  

The girl with the sunny blonde hair, drawn back in a low, curly ponytail?  Wearing glasses and a staid pink button-down shirt?  No thick black liner around her eyes, no purple streaks in her hair?

It couldn't be the woman he'd had an amazing night with five years ago.

And why did he feel a pang of disappointment at that realization?

Standing around here, boggling at some computer nerd, wasn't going to get him the info he needed, though.  To do that, he had to actually talk to the nerd.

For some reason, he cleared his voice before he spoke.  “Felicity Smoak?”

Her head jerked around at the sound of her name, meeting his eyes.  As he watched her eyes widen, probably mirroring his own, he realized that this _was_ the same Felicity.

And what was more, she remembered him, too.  Or at least she recognized him, probably?

But just in case, and trying to remember his original plan of charming the help he needed out of her, he said, “Hi.  I'm Oliver Queen.”

She yanked the pen out of her mouth, gripping it in her fist.  “Of course I know who you are.  Because we've--because you're Mr. Queen,” she said, stumbling over her words.  Like she was going to say one thing and then had changed her mind.  Like she was going to say that they had met before.

“Oh, no, Mr. Queen was my father,” Oliver replied, holding back on telling her that he remembered her.

“Right, of course, but he died.  I mean, he drowned.  But not you!  Otherwise, how could you come to the IT Department and listen to me babble?  Which will end, in three-two-one.  How can I help you?”

As he had listened to her, Oliver had been looking for the Felicity he had met five years ago.  The ballsy, in-your-face, confident woman who had turned him on within moments.  Clearly, something had happened to her that had majorly sapped her confidence.  He wondered what it was.  

Not that she wasn't attractive as she was now.  It was hard to tell with her current outfit, but she seemed to still have the same tight body as before.  The blonde hair suited her, and the bright pink lipstick made his eyes linger on her pouty lips.  Even the glasses worked for her.

So he shouldn't have been surprised that he felt the corners of his mouth quirking up in a tiny smile.

“I need some help with my computer,” he said, lifting up the laptop he had been carrying and setting it down on the desk.  She moved towards it, her brightly-painted nails skimming one of the bullet holes.  Not black polish like five years ago.  It distracted him enough that he didn't think through what he was going to say.

“I was at my coffee shop surfing the Web and I spilled a latte on it.”

“Really?” Felicity asked, raising an eyebrow.  “Because these, they look like bullet holes.”

Damn it.  He was supposed to be charming her into helping him, keeping _her_ off-balance.

“My coffee shop is in a bad neighborhood,” he replied, knowing that the lie was stupid.  Knowing that she knew he was lying, even before she tilted her head to the side and gave him a “you have _got_ to be kidding” look.

So Oliver changed tactics.  There were ways other than charm to distract her.  To keep her from thinking too hard about why Oliver Queen would have a shot-up laptop.

“Since we're _old friends_ ,” he said, watching as she blushed at the emphasis he put on the words, “I would really appreciate if there was anything you could find.  I'd make it worth your while.”

“What, are you gonna thank me with sex?”

With how his eyes had widened--for the second time since he had stepped into the office--Oliver could see Felicity's entire reaction.  Could see how her cheeks flushed, could see the mortification in her eyes before she closed them.  

Ever since he had gotten back, people never said what they were thinking.  They issued platitudes and insincere words as their eyes were watching him.  Searching for signs that his “ordeal” had driven him mad.  No one had the confidence or the concern to ask him how he was doing and to really want to hear the truth.  Everyone treated him with kid gloves.

Everyone except Felicity.

And he liked that about her.  It reminded him of who she used to be.  Or at least how she used to present herself.  As someone who didn't hold back.

“Why don't you get started on the laptop and then we'll talk more,” Oliver said, using all of his charm to pull off the line.  

Felicity nodded jerkily and got to work, rummaging through her desk, her cheeks still pink.

Taking advantage of her ducked head, Oliver closed the door to the office and silently turned the lock.  He didn't want anyone overhearing what they were discussing, he told himself.  He did his best to ignore the way his body had responded when she had mentioned being thanked with sex.  Because even though he had partaken in dozens of random hookups during his Ollie years, he could remember his night with Felicity.

And he was discovering that he wanted another time with her.

Oliver pulled a chair from another desk over to Felicity's, sitting down to her right and watching her work.  Watching her hands move over the keyboard, watching her lips purse as she looked at the monitor.  

Yes, he definitely wanted her again.

XXX

Thank Google she had always been able to block out the world when she was working on a computer.  Otherwise, the fact that she had propositioned her boss’s boss’s boss and was now working on a laptop that she was pretty certain was not his own would have totally locked up her brain.

Still, she was a genius.  Which meant as she worked on Mr. Queen's--on Oliver's laptop--Felicity tried to get herself together.  But it wasn't everyday that the hottest guy you had ever slept with walked into your office, having been presumed dead for five years, only to have returned from the dead even hotter.

Because if Oliver Queen had been hot in a preppy kind of way five years ago, now he was just flat-out hot.  His body had broadened, the muscle in his arms and shoulders clearly visible under his sweater.  His jawline was more defined, even with the sexy scruff he was rocking now.  His hair was short, so much better than that mop he had before. 

And his eyes . . . Felicity had thought they were pretty before.  Now they were amazing.  Still the same shade of blue, but with an intensity and a focus that made her want to squirm.  And not from nerves.

Just thinking about the current state of her panties made Felicity shift in her spinny chair.  She noticed that Oliver had drawn a chair over to sit beside her, so she tried to keep her gaze on the computer, acting like she was completely unaffected by him or by the biggest faux pas she had ever uttered.

Luck, as it must do so often, was smiling on Oliver.  None of the bullets had hit the hard drive.  Taking out a screwdriver, she opened up the laptop's case and attached some wires to it, then connected the wires to one of her desktops.  Then, she powered up the hard drive, making its file list appear on the screen.

“That's it?” Oliver asked, a note of surprise in his voice.

A voice that was coming from very close to her.  Turning her head, she saw that Oliver was only a foot away from her.  Close enough, she realized, that she could smell some woodsy, masculine cologne that he must be wearing.  It was all she could do not to take a deep breath.

“Um, yeah,” she said, realizing she had just been staring at his profile as he looked at the monitor.  “You got lucky, because none of the bullets hit the hard drive.  It was easy.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” he said, scooching his chair closer.  “So what's on the computer?”

Felicity turned back to the computer and began typing, scanning the hard drive’s file list.  But she nearly hit the keystroke command that could have erased the hard drive when Oliver's hand lightly landed on her knee.

Her head whipped around, ready to yell at him, ready to shove him away, ready to tell him that she wasn't some bimbo he could charm, when she realized that he wasn't looking at her.  At least, he wasn't looking at her face, with some kind of sleazy come-on at the ready.  No, he was staring down at his hand on her knee, like it had ended up there without his knowledge.

There were callouses on his fingers.  She could feel the roughness, forged by five years doing God knew what to survive on a deserted island.  

What was going on in his head?  Why did she feel such a connection to him?  One that felt even stronger than what she had felt five years ago?

Everything about him--this laptop,his unbelievable lies--was setting her alarm bells ringing.  She had grown up in Vegas; she knew all about the cons that could be pulled on a trusting person.

Yet even though she was pretty sure Oliver wasn't for real, she still wanted to help him.  There was just something . . . something that made her accept that yes, he was lying to her, but that didn't make her want to stop.  Something about him made her want to go along with this, just to see what would happen next.

She knew she might regret this.  But Felicity Smoak knew to trust her instincts.  And right now, they told her that she had nothing to fear from Oliver Queen.  

So instead of saying anything, she began reviewing the list of files on the hard drive, forming a mental summary of the files to present to Oliver.

“It looks it's mostly business-related . . . a lot of spreadsheets, what looks like some reports,” Felicity said slowly, taking the time to make sure she was right.  “The only thing that doesn't fit with that are these image files,” she pointed out, showing Oliver what files she was talking about by pointing to them on the screen.

“Can you open them?” he asked, leaning forward slightly, his hand moving a little on her knee.

“Um, let me see . . .” she said, her fingers flying as she attempted to open the first of the image files.  It was a big file, even for an image, and it took time to display given the circumstances.

What came up was something that explained the large file size.  “They're blueprints,” she said, using the mouse to move the image around, looking for the legend that would indicate just what these blueprints represented.  When she found it, she nodded and turned to look at Oliver, his hand sliding over her knee with her movement.

“It's the Exchange Building.”

“The Exchange Building,” he repeated, like someone would if they didn't know what something was but didn't necessarily want to admit that.

“It's where the Unidac Industries auction is happening tomorrow night,” Felicity explained, her instincts finally making her call Oliver on his bullshit.  Especially with how confused he looked, and how his hand was still on her leg, all big and warm.

Not that she was exceptionally conscious of Oliver Queen's hand on her thigh or anything.

XXX

Shit.  

This was beginning to look like an epic backfire.  As soon as he realized that Felicity Smoak was _that_ Felicity, he should have aborted this.  Found someone else to unlock the laptop's secrets, or used the Bratva’s connections despite what that would cost him.

But then Walter would have wanted to know how it went with Felicity.  And she had remembered him right off and was bound to be curious about him.  Not that she had asked him anything so far; at least he had managed to keep her off-balance enough with his hand on her knee.

Which had surprised him.  Because putting your hand on a woman's knee . . . it wasn't totally sexual.  It could be about comfort or support just as much as a prelude to sliding your hand up up up, over silky smooth skin to the most beautiful part on any woman.  A place he remembered as being so warm and wet, that night five years ago--

Oliver shut down that line of thought before it went too far.  He didn't know where Felicity was going with all this talk about the Exchange Building and Unidac Industries, but clearly she had regained her equilibrium.  Which meant he had to distract her.

The confusion he was feeling must have been obvious to Felicity, because she spoke again.  “It's the company that Mr. Steele is looking to buy.”

That didn't make things any clearer.  And Felicity must have reached the end of her rope, because she pushed her chair back from him, making his hand fall off her leg.  “Look, I don't want to get in the middle of some Shakespearean family drama--”

“What?”

His answer had so little finesse, Oliver nearly groaned.  And Felicity clearly thought he was an idiot, if her expression was anything to go by.

“Mr. Steele, married to your mom?  Claudius, Gertrude-- _Hamlet_?”

“I didn't study Shakespeare at any of the four colleges I dropped out of,” he said tiredly.  Admitting to himself that he was screwed.  That Felicity was bound to blow the whistle on him, tell him to leave, tell him she wanted nothing to do with him and whatever he was doing.

At least he knew Lawton had been studying the Exchange Building.  It was more of a lead than he had before.  And if Felicity distrusted him now . . . that wouldn't make her any different from any of his previous one-night stands.

He swallowed his disappointment and prepared to stand up and walk out, when Felicity spoke again.  “Mr. Steele, your stepfather, wants to buy Unidac Industries.  You've brought me a laptop that belongs to one of his competitors in the auction.”

“Floyd Lawton,” Oliver said, trying to make the pieces fit.

“No.”

Oliver's eyes snapped to Felicity's face, seeing her confusion and curiosity.  “Warren Patel,” she said, pointing at the screen, where the name Warren Patel was clearly visible.  “Who's Floyd Lawton?”

His brain was whirling.  Not just at the realization that someone was targeting the bidders in the auction--first Holder, then Patel, which meant Walter was at risk, too--but by Felicity.  By how she hadn't kicked him out.  By how she was still helping him, giving him the missing piece of the puzzle without realizing it.  And against her better instincts, he could tell.  He knew she had been considering putting an end to this.  It was why she had brought up Walter.  She thought she was on to him.

But she wasn't.  As smart as Felicity Smoak was--and she was definitely a genius--she had no idea who he was.  And he wanted to keep things like that.  She didn't deserve to be sucked into his darkness.

What she did deserve was his thanks for what she had done.  And all his brain could think of was what she had suggested.

“Mr. Lawton is an associate of Mr. Patel's,” Oliver said, watching Felicity closely.

Her lips pursed.  “I thought you said this was your laptop.”

“I did say that.  But I promise, Felicity, whatever you're thinking, that's not what is going on.  I like Walter,” Oliver explained, attempting to reassure her.

Taking a chance, he moved his chair closer to her and put his hand back on her knee.  “What else can you tell me about the files on the hard drive?”

Her skin was so soft.  And sensitive: he could feel the tiniest of tremors go through her as he touched her.  He kept his face blank, not giving her a wink or a charming smile like he would have in the past.  Just let his hand stay on her knee as he maintained eye contact with her.

A new kind of tension filled the room.  One that made it feel like the temperature was rising.  Felicity held his gaze for a long minute, then slowly turned her head back to the computer and put her hands on the keyboard.  But she didn't turn her body at all, because that would have taken her knee out from under his hand.

Oliver felt a wave of relief.  She was interested in him.  Interested enough in what he had been silently communicating to her that she wasn't pulling away again.

And that made him determined to properly thank her and reward her for what she had done.  Not just finding information he needed.

No, she had restored his faith.  That people could be trusted, that not everyone was out for themselves, that--

What was he thinking?  Oliver fidgeted, his fingers lightly stroking Felicity's kneecap.  He couldn't trust anyone.  And instead of thinking about things he stopped believing in years ago, there was something much better to focus on.

That tremor had fluttered even stronger when his fingers had slid over her knee earlier.  And now he was hungry to touch more of her, since she had basically given him a green light.  So Oliver turned his hand so his fingers brushed the inside of her knee, then slid his fingers up a half-inch to stroke low on her inner thigh.

And with the way she sucked in a tiny breath, Oliver felt his hunger increase.  Into something desperate, a craving that he just had to satisfy.

So he moved his fingers a little higher on her leg.

XXX

This was crazy.  Utterly crazy, like something out of a bad, cheesy movie.  IT girls did not get billionaires stroking their inner thighs like they were a kitten looking to get petted.

Although he was getting closer to her pussy--

Felicity's eyes flew to Oliver's face, making sure she hadn't said that out loud.  In the last two years, her angry retorts had shifted into flustered babbling, a change that felt even more damaging to her future than the days when she routinely told anyone and everyone to fuck off.

But there was no sign that she had said that kitten comment out loud, because his hand was still slowly tracing its way up her thigh.  His face was still, his eyes distant.  But she thought she could hear him breathing a bit harder.

Or maybe she was hearing herself.  Because she knew her breaths were starting to come faster.

Again, she questioned why she was letting Oliver do this.  Why she was going along with his roaming hands.  The girl she had been five years ago would have shoved him away and told him to go find a fucking sorority girl if he wanted to get welcomed home.

She wasn't that kind of girl anymore.  She had made a choice after Cooper, to be someone else.  Someone that Felicity had been starting to not like very much.  She was too timid, too determined to be invisible.  She didn't want to go back to who she had been . . . but she didn't want people to forget what her name was, either.

Maybe this unbelievable encounter would be the key.  She hadn't been with anyone since Cooper.  Maybe she just needed a rebound, some no-strings sex, to let her see a new version of herself.  Someone who combined her former self with who she was now and resulted in a Felicity that was . . . the right one.

Who better to have meaningless sex with than Oliver Queen?  She knew the sex would be good--better than good.  Their night together was still the best she had ever had.  And clearly, Oliver had momentarily taken leave of his senses, or just needed to get his rocks off after five years on a deserted island.  She could go along with this and then he would leave and she would never see him again.

Although . . . if he had gone five years without sex, why wasn't he doing more than running his hand along her inner thigh?

Her silent question went unanswered because, as if he could read her mind, Oliver's fingers slipped under the elastic of her panties, close to the crease of her hip.

Felicity dug her teeth into her lower lip, her eyes going to the door of her office.  Which was closed.  When had it gone from open to closed?  She hadn't noticed, but she was very grateful that it was.  There was no way she could keep her face bland and blank during this.

She could feel Oliver's breath against her ear, on the side of her face, swirling over the skin of her neck.  She shivered slightly, leaning her shoulders back against her chair, even as she tilted her pelvis a little, moving her ass closer to the edge of the chair’s seat.

“That's it,” Oliver whispered in her ear, low and deep.  They were the first words he had said in minutes.  “Spread your legs, Felicity.”

Before he had even finished speaking, she had moved her legs, giving him as much access as her fitted yet stretchy skirt allowed.  She gripped the arms of her chair as she felt his fingers move, his whole hand settled over her crotch.  God, the heat of his hand felt so amazing . . .

His fingers rubbed the satiny fabric of her panties, pressing them against her.  His movements were very deliberate, because she knew there was no way he just happened to press the tip of one satin-covered finger inside her dripping vagina.

“Ohhh!” she gasped softly, her hips rocking a little to make his finger go deeper.  “Oliver . . .”

“Someone's eager,” Oliver said.  But there was no smirk, none of his former frat boy arrogance in his voice.  No, he sounded almost matter-of-fact.  And maybe even a little pleased.  

“Eager like me,” he continued, his breath warm and damp against her neck.

He applied the lightest bit of pressure to her with the heel of his hand, unerringly finding her clit and making her head fall back.  Then there was a tweak to her left breast.

Felicity looked down and felt her mouth go dry.  Oliver was so . . . _big_.  With his long arms, he had managed to wrap his left arm around her, between her back and the chair, and his hand was now under her arm and squeezing her breast through her button-down.  His own legs were spread to allow him to get this close to her, so his right leg was parallel to hers.

And from this angle, she could see down her torso, where his hand was between her legs, her thighs so pale and smooth against his tanned and rough-looking arm, revealed by the pushed-up sleeve of his sweater.

A whimper escaped her lips and Oliver huffed out something that sounded like a laugh.  Then he pressed his hand against her again and plucked at her nipple and Felicity’s mind went hazy.

Oliver didn't make any move to unbutton her shirt.  He didn't try to move her panties out of the way.   Yet it was almost better this way, because it had been so long since any hands but hers had touched her like this, and her senses were already overloading.  Her body was quaking in his arms, her teeth abusing her lower lip to hold back her groans and gasps.  She could have sworn her nails were ripping open the firm foam arms of her spinny chair.

Like magic, she could feel herself starting to climb the peak towards orgasm.  She wasn't able to hold back her moans, especially with Oliver lightly licking her neck.  Even with it being more than two years, this shouldn't be possible . . . but it had been this easy with Oliver before.

Suddenly, he shoved two fingers into her vagina, her underwear making the thrusts shallow, but it was enough.  Especially with the heel of his hand pressing hard against her clit and his other hand twisting her nipple.

“Oh, fuck!” she cried out, louder than even her closed door would allow.  Oliver let go of her breast, his hand flying up to press against her mouth, and Felicity let herself go, babbling against his palm as she climaxed, her hips rolling to pull his fingers deeper.

“Yes . . . Felicity,” he whispered into her ear, before sucking her earlobe briefly.  His tongue played with her earring, helping extend her climax.  

But then, she was sitting in her desk chair, in her office, her panties drenched and clammy against her skin, her legs trembling.

Because she had been fingered by her boss's boss's boss.

Oh, God.  She was going to get fired.  Everyone was going to know, and there would be stares and whispers and--

“That wasn't very good.”

Felicity jerked and pushed his hands away from her.  “What?” she croaked, staring at him.

His cheeks were slightly flushed, his eyes a dark blue that made her swallow.  “That wasn't very good,” he repeated, staring into her eyes.  “Not worthy of the help you provided.”

“I--I guess we could agree to disagree--what?!?”

Faster than she thought anyone could move, Oliver had stood up.  He pulled her chair back, the toes of her flats dragging on the carpet, and then he was kneeling between her knees, those broad shoulders of his pushing her legs apart.

“Oh, fuck, Oliver,” she gasped softly.  If seeing his hand between her legs was a turn-on, having his face right in front of her soaked panties made Felicity feel like she was ready to go again.

Oliver leaned forward, his hands underneath her knees and stroking the ticklish creases.  But Felicity didn't feel like laughing.  Not when he nuzzled her through her panties, breathing in deeply and clearly noticing just how wet she was.

Because the talented bastard looked up at her and smiled.

“Don't--don't get cocky now,” Felicity said, trying to take back a little control.  

“Mmmm, no, you're right.  This is all about you, Felicity,” he said, the little puffs of his breath right against her making her squirm.

“Oh, shut up,” Felicity replied, lifting up her hips to pull up her skirt and push down her panties.

Oliver's eyes widened, then his hands covered hers and yanked the fabric away from her.  Breathing hard, Felicity slowly lifted her legs, draping them over his shoulders.  Then she looked down at him, over the tops of her glasses, and arched an eyebrow.

Go big or go home, her mother used to say.  Just what would Donna Smoak say at her daughter going this big?

Not that her mother’s opinion mattered right now.  Only Oliver.  And he seemed thrilled, if the smile on his face was anything to go by.

He ran his hands up her legs, over her hips and around to cup her ass.  He squeezed, making Felicity moan, before he casually lifted her an inch off the chair and covered her with his mouth.

Felicity let out a noise that could only be called a squeal.  But fuck, he was so strong and so hot . . .

His tongue moved slowly through her folds, lapping at her, almost like he was cleaning her.  It felt so good she couldn't help rocking against his face.  But she had almost no leverage and the longer he licked without increasing the pressure or touching her clit, the more desperate she got.

“Oliver,” she gasped, sliding one of her hands into his hair.  There was a lot less to hold onto now, but you didn't need much to grasp when you wanted to press someone's face against your throbbing cunt.

He glanced up at her and let her move him around, his hands gently lowering her down onto her chair.

“Yes,” Felicity muttered, now able to use her legs on his shoulders to control things.  She kept her hand on the back of his head, practically riding his face, whimpering as she searched for another climax, her body tensing yet not climbing like before.

“Ohhhhhhh, God, please. . .” she begged mindlessly, trying to build herself up.

A soft vibration against her clit made her pause, trembling.  Looking down, she saw Oliver stroking her hips, his mouth pressing light kisses all over her pussy.

“Shhhhh,” he said, the same vibration going through her.  “Easy, Felicity.  I've got you.”

“Oliver?” she asked weakly, her hand lifting from his head.

Gently, he moved one hand from her hip to her center, a finger lightly circling her opening.  At the same time, he started concentrating kisses on her clit, alternating with short hums.

And like a switch, Felicity felt the tingling in her belly, felt her cunt soften and relax, as another climax began building.

She didn't have to fight so hard.  He was bringing it to her.

“Oh, oh, oh, fuck yes. . . So good, so fucking good,” she moaned, not even really aware of what she was babbling.  She was just so turned on and hot and ready, she felt like she was already floating on a cloud.  Floating away on Oliver's tongue and lips and fingers.

One of his long, calloused fingers slid inside her, stroking her inner walls.  His lips wrapped around her clit and he started to softly suck, murmuring a little and making those amazing vibrations go through her.

When he swirled the finger inside her, Felicity gasped.  “Oh--almost--”

The words were barely out of her mouth and Oliver seemed to already know what she needed.  He sucked hard on her clit, his finger pressed against a spongy spot inside her, and she was coming.  Coming so hard and strong, she could feel the wetness sliding out of her and coating Oliver’s hand, her vision whiting out and her mind going so silent.  

When her brain had finished rebooting, Felicity discovered that her legs were resting against the chair and her skirt had been pulled down, covering her.  She took a few deep breaths and opened her eyes, feeling a rush of heat when she saw Oliver, standing in front of her on the other side of the desk.  His hair was a bit mussed and the skin around his mouth looked slightly flushed, but otherwise there was no signs of what he had been doing to her for the last forty-five minutes.

Holy shit.  Felicity double-checked the time.  Yes, Oliver really had been in her office, with the door closed, for nearly an hour.

Her brain warred between her impending doom at the hands of the Queen Consolidated grapevine and flat-out disbelief that Oliver Queen had been fingering and eating her out for forty-five minutes.

This was not something she had anticipated happening to her when she had woken up this morning.

Oliver gave her a small smile--more a quirking of the corners of his mouth, really.  “Welcome back.”

“Shouldn't that be my line?  Not that I did anything for you, which is very unusual for you to not even ask--” Felicity began, starting to rise to her feet.  But the weakness of her knees and the general unsteadiness of her legs made her sink back down into her chair.

Also, it didn't feel that sticky down there.   Had Oliver actually cleaned her up while she was coming down from her climax?

“You did plenty for me.  I'll just take the laptop and get out of your hair,” Oliver said pleasantly, sounding no different from when he had entered her office.  It was like what had happened between them had been a crazy-vivid dream.

But honestly . . . what more was it?  She had just helped the future head of the company with a computer problem.  So what if he had given her a sexual experience that far outstripped every other time she had sex, including their first night together?

It was just what she needed to shake up her life a little, take a good hard look at her choices and make some new ones.

“Okay,” she replied slowly, unhooking the wires from the laptop he had brought in.  She wasn't sure what else to say.  Don't do something you might regret with the information I found for you?  Thanks for the great sex?

“Here you go,” she said, holding the computer out to him.  When he took it, their fingers touched and Felicity bit her lip at the spark of electricity she felt.  “H-have a good day.”

He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded.  “You, too.”

“Oh, I already did,” she answered without thinking, then slapped her hand over her mouth, feeling mortified.

But not due to Oliver's reaction.  Because he just looked at her, and gave that little half-smile again, and said, “Goodbye, Felicity.”

He unlocked the door--so that was why they hadn't been disturbed--and opened it before she could speak.  And all she could say was “Goodbye, Oliver” as he walked out the door.

Her breath escaped her in a whoosh and Felicity leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes.  She gave herself a minute to collect her thoughts, to find a way to push them to the back of her mind.  And then she straightened up and got back to her busywork.

Because she still had her job.  And it wasn't like she would ever see Oliver Queen again.

End, Chapter One


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reaction to the first chapter of this fic was so wonderful! I so appreciate hearing from readers who enjoyed Oliver and Felicity’s reunion. Now, in this chapter, we’ll see how Oliver and Felicity are dealing with what happened. Unfortunately, they both are a little too stubborn to accept what they want . . .

 

_ “Oliver, you’re not a solider.  You’re a criminal.  And a murderer.” _

_ “Shengcún not mean bird.  Shengcún mean survive. You want survive this place, bird not last thing you kill.” _

With a deep breath, Oliver sat up in bed.  It was little wonder that after his conversation with Digg earlier tonight--when he had made his offer to the former soldier--he was remembering his first days on Lian Yu.  

The first time he was a killer.  All in the name of  _ shengcún _ .  Survive.  

Yao Fei had been right.  That bird hadn’t been the last thing he killed.  He had killed many times.  Until he could do it without thought, without hesitation.  When he had made the decision to return home, he thought he would be able to maintain that finely-honed edge, even with the creature comforts of the civilized world.  Even when close to his family.  

He was starting to wonder if he had made a mistake.  If he should have come back without revealing himself to anyone, as he had done in Coast City.  Because when Diggle had turned him down, when he had thrown Oliver’s offer back in his face even though Oliver had saved his life . . . he should have killed Diggle.  Just like he had planned.

But he hadn’t.  He had let Digg go.  Let him leave his base, knowing that his fate was in the hands of his bodyguard.  And Oliver didn’t understand why.  Because letting leave, it must mean that he trusted Digg in some way--trusted a man who saw too much, who hadn’t bought a single one of Oliver’s lies.  

Just like Felicity--

Cutting off that thought, Oliver swung his legs off the bed.  Perhaps if he went and watched some television, his mind would settle.  He couldn’t change the fact that he had allowed Diggle to make a choice.  It was a split-second decision on his part and even with the benefit of hindsight, he still didn’t understand why he had made that call.

Or rather, he didn’t understand why he had let things like Digg’s sister-in-law and nephew, his own disappointment at Digg’s failure to understand his mindset, outweigh the cold, practical reality.  No one could know his secret.

Yet now, someone did know his secret.  He had been weak, still distracted by and thinking too much about his encounter with Felicity the day before.  Leaving him unprepared to deal with his emotions after he had saved Digg.  Because when Digg had opened his eyes, as he saw who the Hood was, all Oliver felt was . . . relief.  Relief that someone was seeing him--the real him.

But it had all gone wrong: Felicity, Diggle . . . Laurel.

Laurel’s reaction after what had happened at the auction had surprised him.  But more than that, her blame had cut him to the quick--and made him angry.  He knew that from her perspective, it looked like he didn't care, since he had run off while his family was in danger.  But why couldn't Laurel see that there were other ways to care about people?  That sometimes, the best thing you could do was stay away, hold people at arm's length, give them space?

She has always been so sure that her perspective was the right one.  So clear-sighted and rational and  _ sure _ .  When he had been Ollie, driftless playboy, he had admired that quality in her.  Admired it, but also didn't understand it.  Because when it came to him, she had a blind spot.  She always took him back after he had fucked up, despite all her words about justice and fairness.

The last five years had opened Laurel's eyes about him, though.  That was clear.  He had known the road back to her would be difficult, maybe impossible--but he had been prepared to try.  But now, after barely a month, he was considering giving up.  And it wasn't just out of a desire to do the noble thing, with Tommy being in love with Laurel.

No, something had changed in Oliver himself.

His eyes landed on the clock and he grimaced.  He needed to stop thinking.  So he pulled on his robe and headed downstairs.

The TV was already on--he could hear it as he approached the living room.  Thankfully, it wasn't his mother or Walter, but Thea.

“Hey.  Couldn’t sleep, too?” his sister asked, looking up at him. 

He sat down beside her, stretching his legs out onto the coffee table and his arm along the back of the loveseat.  Feeling a moment of gratitude for his nightmare, if it let him have some time with a Thea whose walls were down.  

Or maybe his walls were down enough that they could meet in the middle and actually talk.  He found himself telling her about Laurel.  About how she had a chip on her shoulder when it came to him.  Found himself saying, “Even though it might not seem like it with the way I’ve been acting . . . I’m not the same person I used to be.”

“So show her.  Be yourself.  I mean, your new self.”

Thea made it sound easy.  And maybe it was.  But . . . could he do that?  Could he ease back on the playboy Ollie Queen act, so Laurel could see who he was now?  What about his mission?  She was a lawyer, dedicated to upholding the law--would she see his work as he did?  That breaking the law was sometimes necessary for the sake of justice?

It was something to think about.  Something he could test Laurel on, he thought, as he watched the news footage on Peter Declan, the man convicted of killing his wife.  Even though there was a much better suspect: businessman Jason Brodeur.  A name on the List.

XXX

Felicity had one arm in her coat, already mentally out the door, when her extension rang with the special ring indicating someone had dialed her directly, instead of the call being routed to her from the general IT help line.  

For a moment, she stared at the ringing phone and considered just ignoring it.  It was after six and she was alone in the department.  No one would be the wiser if she let the call go to voicemail.  

But then . . . she had been putting in extra time over the past few weeks.  Trying to be a model employee, even though her supervisor barely noticed all the work she had been doing and her gossipy coworkers were making cracks about her lack of a life.  But it had felt necessary to go above and beyond, ever since the day that Oliver Queen had showed up in the middle of the day and made her come.  Twice.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Felicity reached out and grabbed her phone.  “IT Department, Felicity speaking.”  

“Ah, Ms. Smoak, you’re still here.”

“Mr. Steele!” she gasped, gripping the receiver tightly at hearing the voice of Queen Consolidated’s CEO.  “Y-yes, yes, I’m still here.”

“I was hoping you could come up to my office to discuss a certain matter with me?  If it’s not too much trouble.”  

Her mouth opened and closed, the fear paralyzing her.  Oh, God, she was getting fired.  Someone knew what had happened with Oliver, and now his stepfather was going to fire her.  

“No--no, it’s no trouble.  I’ll be right up,” she managed to say, her voice sounding shaky.  

Felicity hung up the phone and slid off her coat, but then leaned forward and wrapped her hands over the top of her chair, taking a few deep breaths.  Yes, she had made a mistake, but . . . but other than that one little slip, she had been an absolutely outstanding employee.  What were they thinking, firing  _ her _ ?  Did Walter Steele have  _ any  _ idea how important she was to this department--no, to this company?   

Well, if he didn’t know, he was going to find out.  Because she was going to go up to his office and tell him just how big of a mistake this was!

By the time she reached Mr. Steele’s office, she had built up such a head of steam, she barged right in.  Because this felt good.  This felt like who she used to be: the woman who kicked ass and didn’t care who she rolled over, because she knew she was good and she knew her value.    

“Why am I being fired?” she demanded, walking right up to Mr. Steele’s desk.

Of course, finding out that she wasn’t getting fired totally flustered her and made her unleash not just babble, but an idiotic throat-slitting gesture, too.   _ Felicity,  _ **_what_ ** _ are you doing? _

Thank God Mr. Steele didn’t change his mind and decided to fire her after all.  Instead, he handed her a folder.  “A variance of 2.6 million dollars on a failed investment from three years ago.  It was authorized by my wife.  I was hoping you could find out some of the details of the transaction for me.”

She glanced through the papers, noting the bare details.  Accounting wasn’t really in her area of expertise, but at least she had the information about where the money had been transferred to.  But with the bank name and  the account number, Mr. Steele could have just called the bank himself to find out more.  Asking an IT tech to look into a financial transaction . . . well, she had to ask.  

“Find out . . .?”  She let her voice trail off as she made eye contact, silently inquiring about what he wanted.  

“Dig up.  Discreetly,” Mr. Steele said, his British accent and calm demeanor making it all sound so much more civilized than “Hack your way into the bank and discover what really happened to that 2.6 million dollars.”

She wondered why Mr. Steele had come to her.  Yes, she was the best in her department, but how had he known that?  Could . . . could Oliver have mentioned to his stepfather that he had gone to the IT Department for computer help?  Had he recommended her?  

No.  No, she couldn’t think about that.  It was pointless.  A meaningless blip of excitement and unexpected sexytimes in the midst of her average, ordinary life.  A blip which had reminded her that she was cut out for more than ordinary.  But she hadn’t quite figured out yet what she was looking for.  Although doing some computer-aided digging for the CEO of the company was definitely a little bit extraordinary.  

It was a good start towards her goal of being something more than an IT girl.  A goal that she didn’t realize she had until Oliver Queen had shown up with that bullet-riddled laptop.  

And she was just standing here, thinking, in the CEO’s office.  

Felicity gestured to Mr. Steele with the folder he had given her.  “I’m your girl,” she said, turning to leave.  Only to immediately rethink her words and turn back.  “I mean, I’m not your girl, not like that--not in that way--” 

Mr. Steele looked confused and Felicity quickly said, “Thank you for not firing me,” before she hurried out of his office, just in case he was reconsidering.  

On her way back to the IT Department, she went by the break room and put on a pot of coffee.  There was some stale, abandoned crackers in one of the cabinets and she started munching on them as she waited for the coffee to brew.

Her mind was already contemplating different approaches, her fingers tingling at the thought of moving over the keyboard for hacking reasons.  It had been so long since she had done anything like this--she had forgotten what a thrill it was.  Just the anticipation made her feel more like the person she wanted to be.  

The woman she thought she would have been, back when she was in her dorm room in Boston and she imagined ruling the world.  

XXX

Huddling on the rooftop outside Iron Heights, Oliver would have laughed, bitterly and mockingly, if he didn’t think he would be heard.  After all, he was close enough to hear Laurel and her father talking--they would be able to hear him if he let out the ironic laughter bubbling up inside of him.

But . . . it was just so funny.  Here he was, trying to show Laurel who he really was.  To show her the man he was now.  And what had she seen?  

Exactly who he really was.  Yes, he had done all too well at taking Thea’s advice, because when Detective Lance said that the Hood was dangerous, Laurel had agreed with him.  

_ “I know.  He’s a killer.  He would have killed that man.  I looked into his eyes . . . it’s like he had no remorse. _ ”

Tugging the ski mask off to get some air, Oliver tried to block out Laurel’s words.  But they kept ringing in his head, so loud and so insistent, he couldn’t stop hearing them.  

He had thought things were getting better.  That he could work with Laurel, feeding her information.  Working within the system, somewhat . . . and not having to kill.  It had felt good, trying to save Declan.  Purer, in a way, than just taking out a name on the List.  He wasn't just some sociopath, like Digg thought.  He might be a monster . . . but he could do good.

But Laurel didn’t see him like that.  Didn’t see the Hood as anything but a killer.  All because he had lost control when she was being choked to death.  

Seeing the hands wrapped around Laurel’s slender throat, hearing the gasps of a woman he had loved . . . how could he do anything but lose control?  How could he do anything but use all his strength to guarantee that man wouldn’t hurt anyone ever again?

There was no way Oliver could do anything else.  But it made Laurel see the Hood as a killer, not a partner.  She would never want to work with him now.  

If she couldn’t accept the Hood, there was no way Oliver could hope to build something with her.  He couldn’t let his guard down and try to be who he really was with her.  

And deep down, he had known that.  Because after all, Thea had told him to be his new self with Laurel.  And he had.  But his new self was the Hood, not Oliver Queen.  In the depths of his soul, he had known that Laurel could never know that Oliver Queen was the Hood, even as he tested her, hoping all the while that she could accept him in time.

Even though he had known this was coming, it was still a blow.  That she hadn’t been able to see the shades of gray.  Not like Felicity had.  

Oliver swallowed and looked around, feeling very exposed.  The police were bound to notice a man with a quiver, even with the hubbub around him.  He needed to get back to the Foundry.  Needed to push down his disappointment and at least take some comfort out of saving an innocent man.  

Peter Declan would go free.  Would be able to rebuild his life, could act like these last few years had only been a bad dream.  

Meanwhile, he would go back to his damp base and accept that he was truly alone, like he told himself he needed to be.  He shouldn’t have wanted Digg to have accepted his offer.  He shouldn’t want to go back to Felicity for her help.  He had to do it on his own, because no one would understand.  Digg hadn't and he was a former soldier.  Laurel hadn't and she had seen some of the worst of humanity.

Pulling the ski mask back on, Oliver made his way to where he had stashed his leathers and his motorcycle.  He changed quickly, keeping the ski mask on even after he pulled the hood up.  Craving anonymity, solitude, clarity.  

Being back in his leathers helped.  Let him think, let him remember this was who he was and what he needed.

Laurel was a distraction.  An entanglement that he did not need.  Not when Laurel wasn’t able to understand what he was doing in order to save this city.  

Not like Felicity.  It had been so strange . . . he knew she had suspicions.  Knew that she realized something strange was going on.  Yet she had still used her skills to help him.  Even before he had started touching her.

For a moment, Oliver stared off into space, vividly remembering the feel of Felicity’s skin under his fingers, the taste of her against his tongue, the sound of her voice . . . 

It had been even better than his memory of that night five years ago.  Which shouldn’t be possible.  But when he thought about Felicity, everything blurred together.  One moment she had dark hair and glasses, the next she had blonde hair and dark lipstick.  He didn’t understand why that happened, but the fact it was happening made clear that Felicity was little different from Laurel: an entanglement he should avoid.  As much as possible.  

But as soon as he walked into the Queen mansion and saw Digg, he started to wonder if avoiding entanglements was even possible.

"You are fighting a war, Queen, except you have no idea what war does to you, how it scrapes off little pieces of your soul. And you need someone to remind you of who you are, not this thing you’re becoming."

Oliver wanted to discount Digg’s words.  Wanted to tell him that it was too late for him.  He had already fought his war, already had his soul shredded by his efforts to survive.  All so he could return home and right his father's wrongs.  

Yet as he listened to Digg, he had a flash of Felicity’s face, the moment he had walked into her office and she had made eye contact with him, and for some reason he stayed silent.

XXX

Slowly, Felicity walked away from Mr. Steele’s office, her mind still unsettled by what she had discovered.  About Oliver’s mother, about Mrs. Queen’s--or was it Mrs. Steele’s?--relationship with her husband, and about what it might mean.  

It was weird, wasn’t it, that Mrs. Steele--or did she hyphenate?--had claimed the money from QC was for an investment but was actually used to create an offshore LLC?  After all, any kind of offshore business was naturally suspicious, wasn’t it?

Especially when all the business had existed to do was to buy a warehouse.

Did that merit lying to your husband?  Because that was what Mrs. Steele had done.  She had lied to her husband.

_ Maybe it runs in the family _ .

Batting aside that stray thought, Felicity walked towards the elevator bank, to go back to the IT Department.  Her work here was done and she should get back to her real job.  There were those server upgrades her supervisor had dumped in her lap, as if he had known she had complained about him to Mr. Steele.  There were a few programs the Accounting Department were using that Felicity had always thought could be better.  And there was all the normal tech support work.

Yet she couldn't help thinking about Tempest, the mysterious company.  And wondering what Mr. Steele was going to do about it.  He had looked . . . upset.  Really upset, in a British stiff upper lip kind of way, by what she had told him.  Like he hadn't any idea his wife might not have told him the truth.

It was none of her concern, not really.  But she couldn't help feeling for Mr. Steele.  Hoping he didn't do anything he would regret.

And she couldn't help wondering about Oliver.  What would he think about his mother lying to his stepfather?  He had said he liked Walter--of course he did, Mr. Steele was very nice--but what was it like to come back from the accident that had killed your father to discover your mother had remarried?

Maybe he didn't care.  Maybe he was too wrapped up in the same old playboy hijinks that Oliver Queen was known for.  But Felicity didn't think so.  She thought Oliver did care.  She thought he cared about a lot.

Even if he was a really crappy liar.  Not like his mother, apparently.

XXX XXX

Over the rim of his coffee cup, Oliver eyed his companion.  In name, Digg was his bodyguard.  In truth, he was much more.  Yes, he was helping Oliver deal with the business of starting a nightclub.  More importantly, Digg was becoming a major resource.  Already, he had proved his worth by helping Oliver get out of his arrest for vigilantism.  Frankly, Oliver had been surprised that the SCPD had walked into his trap that quickly.  He had thought it would be a few more months before Detective Lance and his fellow officers put together two and two and got Oliver Queen as the Hood.  So Diggle’s agreement to work with Oliver had come just in time.  

As much as Digg was a resource, though, he was also a pain in Oliver’s ass.  Even though Digg knew why Oliver was doing this, he didn’t stop questioning his methods.  Hadn’t stopped raising objections to his pursuit of names on the List.  But Digg thought too small, wanting to go after crooks like bank robbers, instead of the real players.  The ones that turned a normal, happy family into bank robbers.  

Bank robbers were minor criminals, not worthy of his time, but after Digg had maneuvered him into getting involved, Oliver figured he might as well give Digg this one.  That didn’t really explain why he was ready to make a suggestion he was pretty sure would open himself up to more of Digg’s probing questions.    

But Oliver knew something about how to resist questioning.  Knew how to deflect and dodge.  The trick was doing so in a way that didn’t appear like he didn’t want to answer the question.  Because usually when you avoided one question, you created three more.  

“After last night, I think we need to find out some more about the Restons.  Why they started down this path,” Oliver said, lowering his mug.  “If we know that, we might know more about what they’ll do next.  Which bank they might target, since there’s four remaining options in Starling City.”

“Not a bad idea,” Digg said, wrapping both of his hands around his mug.  “But how?  Unless you picked up hacking on that island of yours.”

Oliver took a sip of his coffee, delaying the inevitable.  Because . . . he didn’t want to see Felicity.  No, that was a lie.  He  _ did  _ want to see her.  Wanted to spend more time with her.  Take in the changes in her, compare the woman she was with the woman she used to be and figure out what happened to her.  Because something had happened--something bad, he suspected.  Something had turned the strong, argumentative woman from that night in a Boston frat house into the woman who was hiding her light.  It was futile, though, really.  Felicity was so bright; she couldn’t hide her intelligence, her humor, her power.  

That craving, though, was too dangerous.  He could get into so much trouble.  More trouble than he already had, with running his hands over her, his mouth . . . 

Giving his head a shake, Oliver set down his mug with a clunk.  “I know someone.  Let’s go.”  

“Let’s go?” Digg repeated, before shrugging and finishing his coffee.  “Didn’t know I’d get to find out one of your secrets today.”  

“It’s practical.  In case you ever need to ask her for help and I’m not able to do it.  She doesn’t know who I really am, so bear that in mind,” Oliver said as Digg fell into step with him.  

“Her?”  Digg chuckled.  “Oh, I see.”  

Damn it.  Oliver gritted his teeth as they walked to the car.  He meant what he said--it was important that Digg have access to the same resources.  And if bringing his bodyguard along meant he wouldn’t be alone with Felicity . . . well, Digg was supposed to be accompanying him all the time.  Since he was just a traumatized former playboy. 

He wanted to be alone with Felicity, though.  He just didn’t want to take the risk.  He knew what he needed to do, and getting caught up in a blonde who babbled without giving away anything more than trivial details, instead of what he really wanted to know--that was the last thing he needed.  

Digg drove them to Queen Consolidated.  Once they arrived, Oliver led the way to Walter’s office.  Going to Felicity’s cubicle would make more sense, but he wanted someplace they wouldn’t be disturbed.  Someplace without memories of his last encounter with Felicity.

Pausing only to ask his stepfather’s assistant to call Felicity and ask her to come up, Oliver settled into one of the overstuffed chairs surrounding a low coffee table.  Digg perched on the corner of Walter’s desk, maintaining the typical bodyguard distance.  With his more relaxed stance, though, probably to put Felicity at ease when she walked in, Oliver assumed.

The moment she came into view through the floor-to-ceiling glass partition, Oliver felt something inside himself relax.  Like a knot in his middle eased.

Which was just ridiculous.  

Felicity took a step into the office, her eyes narrowing slightly behind her glasses as she observed the scene before her.  Then she lifted her chin and walked over to sit down across from him.  “Good morning, Oliver.”  

“Hey,” he said, trying to affect an air of casualness.  “Thank you for coming.  I could use your help tracking down someone I’m looking for.”  He paused, realizing that he should probably have done introductions first.  “Felicity Smoak, meet John Diggle.  He’s my bodyguard.”  

When she turned her head to look at Digg, Oliver ran his eyes over her quickly.  She seemed to be wearing the same blouse from the day in her office.  The one that had been soft yet crisp against his palm as he squeezed her breast.  

_ Jesus, get it together, Queen _ , he told himself.   _ You’re not some teenage virgin.  Stop thinking about sex. _

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Diggle,” Felicity said with a smile.  

“Ms. Smoak,” Digg said, nodding his head.  “You work here at Queen Consolidated?”

“Yes, in the IT Department,” she replied, settling some kind of computer tablet in her lap.  Her eyes flicked back to Oliver as she opened it.  “I should add ‘personal Internet researcher for Oliver Queen’ to my job title.”  

For some reason, her words caught him by surprise--made him breathe out in a kind of silent laugh even as he shook his head a little.  Whether it was from amusement at her sassy remark or confusion at whether she was trying to send him some kind of message, Oliver didn’t know.  

She seemed to take his gesture as a warning.  “Happily, I mean,” she said, pushing her glasses up.

He did his best not to smile.  To shove aside the flirtatious response that had immediately come to mind.  About how he would be very happy if she was his personal researcher--especially if it was hands-on research.   

“His name is Derek Reston,” Oliver said, hoping he didn’t sound too curt.  Because he couldn’t let Felicity get too suspicious about why Oliver wanted information on Derek Reston--a man with whom Oliver had nothing in common.  Meanwhile, Digg was sitting right there, already curious about Felicity, and he would not share with his bodyguard any more information than was absolutely necessary.  

Needing to keep two people in the dark for different reasons at the same time required all his concentration.  He couldn’t get distracted by thinking about Felicity’s legs or responding to Digg’s teasing.  He needed to be focused.  

So Oliver heard the note of censure in Felicity’s voice all too clearly.

XXX 

“You weren’t really close friends, huh?”

_ Why  _ was she doing this?  Why was she nailing Oliver for the actions of his father?  His  _ dead  _ father?  

After all, it wasn’t like Oliver was involved in Queen Consolidated, then or now.  He had done a really good job of pissing on his family’s company by showing up drunk at the dedication of the new Applied Sciences building--the building that was named for said dead father.  And back in 2007, rather than planning for a future at QC, he was too busy flunking out of colleges and screwing any girl he could get.  

Girls like her.  

This wasn’t how Felicity had expected her day to go: doing some basic Internet searches for a man she just couldn’t figure out.  Which seemed to be the common denominator in all of her encounters with Oliver since his return--he kept her guessing.  Kept undermining her expectations.  

First he showed up in her office, he remembered how they had met five years before, he told her an unbelievable lie to get her help with that laptop, and then he had pleasured her to within an inch of her life.  Which was weird and surprising and pretty hot in a dirty kind of way, but none of that was normal for her.  

Even though she told herself she would never see him again, Felicity was a realist.  She tried to be prepared for anything.  So yes, she had started wearing her fancy underwear every day instead of just once in a while.  She made sure her girlscaping was done regularly, removing the hair that needed removing in order to feel her best.  She had even stashed a pair of heels in her desk, just in case.  

So what had he done today?  He had asked her to meet him in Mr. Steele’s office.  And when she had walked in, his  _ bodyguard  _ was there, too.

Message received.  No sexytimes for Ms. Smoak.  Which was fine.  More than fine--that was her preference.  The last thing she wanted was to get a reputation because she was sleeping with the boss’s boss’s boss.  It was totally okay that Oliver thought he needed to bring along a chaperone to protect himself from her.  Although really, she was the one who needed a bodyguard, since it had been Oliver to start everything last time.

It all made total sense.  But that didn’t mean she didn’t also feel rejected.  And incredibly foolish.  Because . . . what had she been thinking?  Had she tricked herself into thinking that Oliver Queen might  actually be interested in  _ her _ ?  That was just not good.  Yes, that time in her office had been really, really amazing.  And even better was feeling wanted like that.  Because . . . it had been so long since she had felt like that.  Not since Cooper.  But she had to get over Cooper, had to move on.  She needed a rebound, and that was what Oliver was.  A way to remember who she used to be.  A way for her to get over Cooper, to reclaim the kickass parts of herself that she had let fall by the wayside in the last few years.  

Clearly, she had some more work to do to become kickass again.  Because she should have just bailed on this.  Shouldn’t have helped him, even though she was curious about why he had come back to see her, why he wanted her help.  And once she started looking into one Derek Reston, she was curious about why Oliver needed to know about this man, because there was no way they had actually been friends.  

Not with how the Queen family had totally screwed over the Reston family.  

She knew she was kinda sticking it to Oliver--blaming him for what his father had done.  It wasn’t fair, she knew, but right now, Felicity was having a hard time holding back.  Not when she felt curious and surprised and rejected.    

At least Mr. Diggle was nice--and kind of on the same wavelength as her when it came to keeping Oliver in his place.  He had immediately joined her in teasing Oliver--but it felt like more than just taking advantage of the opportunity to make fun of his employer.  Almost like he was telling her she was right to be suspicious about Oliver.  

No, that was ridiculous.  She was getting paranoid, and the last thing she needed right now was to add another emotion to the unsettled cocktail of feelings brewing inside her.

“They all pretty much lost their homes . . . including your friend.”

Okay,  _ now  _ she was done twisting the knife in Oliver.  Because since she was actually looking at him now, she could see he looked pretty upset by what she had told him.  His jaw was tensed and his eyes were shadowed.  Like he had found out something about his father that totally upended his world.  

Felicity felt a flutter of sympathy for Oliver.  It must suck, after everything he had been through, to discover his father wasn’t the man Oliver thought he was.  And it wasn’t Oliver’s fault she had let herself get fooled.  

It was awful what Oliver’s father had done to this Derek Reston.  But Oliver wasn’t responsible for that.  He was only responsible for himself, for his own actions.  

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, folding the cover over her tablet.  “I--I spoke out of turn.  It . . . it’s not your fault, what happened to Derek Reston.”  

Oliver blinked and came back from wherever he had gone.  “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said it’s not your fault, Oliver,” she said, standing up quickly.  “I should--go.  Get back to work.  Not that this isn’t work, since apparently I’m your personal Internet researcher, but I should do the work your family’s company is paying me for.  Unless there’s anything else I can help you with.”  

“Oh . . .” Oliver said, glancing over at Mr. Diggle.  “No, that’s it.  Thank you, Felicity.”  

It had to be her imagination, but she thought he said her name in a special way.  Or he just made it sound special.  Different from how everyone else said those four syllables.  

“You’re welcome,” she said quickly.  Turning on her heel, she hurried out of the office and headed for the elevators, clutching her tablet to her chest and wishing the only way she could get the important words out wasn’t in a stream of babble and conversational tangents.  

Because if she could talk--and if Mr. Diggle hadn’t been there--she would have told Oliver she could tell he felt guilty about his father’s actions.  And that it was admirable he felt that way, when he wasn’t responsible for what had happened to Derek Reston.  It made her think of the man she had met five years ago, the man in whom she had seen the potential to be more than some preppy playboy.  

And the Oliver she had met twice so far?  That Oliver had even more potential to be a good man.  She just wished she could tell him that.  But it didn’t seem to be in the cards.  Because she really didn’t expect to see Oliver again after today.  

XXX XXX

The last thing Oliver wanted to do was to fight with Digg.  Especially over Helena.  So the best course was to walk away.  Walk away and tell himself he wasn't making a mistake.  At least, not a bigger one than he had already made by sleeping with Helena.

He had thought they had a connection.  One born of the pain from realizing how dark the world was.  How most people couldn’t be trusted.  He had thought maybe together, they could find something good in each other.  He could help her, give her a way to channel her anger and grief into something that wasn't destructive.  Just like he had learned to do.

And he couldn't deny that losing himself in her body for a few hours had been . . .

Oliver frowned.  At the time, it had felt good.  Freeing.  But now, looking back on it, the sex hadn’t been that good.  He had felt strangely unsatisfied, in a way he hadn't ever felt before.

Could that be why Helena had said she wasn't interested in a relationship?

Giving his head a shake, he stepped into the makeshift bathroom and grabbed a rough towel to wash the sweat of his body.  He was imagining things.  Just because Digg disapproved of Helena for some reason, just because Digg didn't understand why he had to try to help her, it didn't mean he should start second-guessing himself.  Helena herself had said the sex was nice--

He stopped, the towel half-submerged in the sink, as the truth hit him.

Nice.  The sex had been  _ nice _ .

With a groan, Oliver braced his hands against the sink, ignoring the water that dripped from the towel to the floor.  

No one had ever described sex with him as ‘nice’.

What the fuck was he doing?  Why, out of all the woman he had encountered since he had returned, had he gotten involved with Helena?  Because damn it, Digg was right.  He couldn't save her.  He couldn't show her a better way, not when she wasn't interested in seeing it.  And . . . yes, he was lonely.  He had thought things were getting better with having Digg at his side, with someone knowing the truth about him.  Yes, things were better.

But he just . . . he had thought he needed to do this alone.  But he couldn't be totally alone.  He couldn’t resist the pleading requests of his friends and family to let them in.  He didn’t have the same kind of tactical skills and strategic thinking ability Diggle had.  He didn’t have the technological knowledge Felicity had.  

Felicity.  The woman he had done everything in his power to not think about, since that day in Walter’s office with her and Digg.  With how easily she had discovered what had happened to Derek Reston, with how she had held him accountable for his father’s part in Derek Reston’s downfall, with how she had apologized for blaming him for his father’s mistakes . . . 

With how Digg had so clearly liked Felicity--unlike his reaction to Helena.

Straightening up, Oliver met his eyes in the mirror, but only for a split-second before he looked away from his reflection.  Yes, he was lonely, craving something.  Something he had tried to find with Helena.  But that was impossible.  Not when there was another woman who inspired so much more in him.  

But anything with Felicity was impossible, too.  He had already made a mistake, that day in Felicity's office.  She was too good--and she had been hurt enough already.  Hurt like Helena, maybe?  Yet while Helena had become obsessed with vengeance but called it justice, Felicity . . . she seemed to have left the darkness behind and sought the light.

And Oliver wasn’t about to drag her into the darkness with him.  Pursuing Felicity, starting a relationship with her--it would be the height of selfishness.  A sign that he hadn’t really changed, that he was still Ollie, and he refused to be that man again.   

He wasn’t ready to give up on Helena.  Wasn’t ready to say that she couldn’t become someone better.  Maybe she didn’t want a relationship with him--fine.  It was probably for the best.  Because until Digg had voiced his concerns, Oliver hadn’t realized just how fast he was falling for Helena.  But not for the Helena that really existed.  He was falling for the woman he wanted her to be.  

And the woman Helena really was . . . Oliver wasn’t sure she would be the right choice for him.  

Shaking his head, he picked up the soaked towel and rubbed it over his chest, not caring the water wasn’t even lukewarm anymore.  

There was another way for Helena.  He would show her--he could save her.  Keep her from making some of the mistakes he had made. 

Keep him from making the mistake he wanted to make.

XXX

Okay, so she had thought she would go back to her regular, ordinary job.  That she could put aside how she seemed to be doing favors for not only the boss’s boss's boss, but  _ his _ boss, too.  Just because Oliver had asked her for help twice, and Mr. Steele had given her that financial transaction to research, it didn't mean it was the kind of work she was supposed to be doing.  

But there was something hinky about that financial transaction, the one that Mrs. Queen-Steele had made.  Something that nagged at her, until finally Felicity just  _ had _ to look into it again.  For her peace of mind, if nothing else.  And wasn’t it showing initiative, to keep going on this?  Besides, she couldn't get the look on Mr. Steele’s face out of her head.  Maybe if she could figure out what bugged her about this transaction, she could help put his mind at ease.  Let him know if he could trust his wife.

So with a little work--most of it in her off-hours--Felicity was able to find the fly in the ointment.  Someone else had tracked the same transaction.  Someone good.  They had to be, for Felicity to work so hard to uncover their fingerprints.

But Mr. Steele did not appreciate her initiative.  She had left his office after his dressing-down with her knees shaking.  This was why she shouldn't have meddled, why she should have done what she intended: gone back to her normal job and stop thinking she could make a difference.  Although really, how much of a difference had she made?  She had found some blueprints on a laptop, found out about one of the skeletons in QC’s closet, and told the CEO of the company that his wife was lying to him.

It was all Oliver Queen's fault.  If he hasn't come to her with these strange problems, being all hot and enigmatic, her brain wouldn't have started thinking everything was a mystery that needed to be solved.  

Felicity had never really liked mysteries.  She didn't see the appeal of being an armchair detective.  Because fictional mysteries had to make sense; the clues had to lead to a solution and there couldn't be too many red herrings.  But life wasn’t like that.  She had forgotten that.  Gotten swept up in decoding the clues and finding the truth.

So when Paul, her supervisor, called her into his office, she was pretty sure she was going to get fired.  Paul never talked to her.  If he had something to tell her, he sent curt, passive-aggressive emails.  Once upon a time, he might have been good with computers, but he hadn’t kept up with the technology and now he was a dinosaur.  

“I don’t know what you did, but you’ve made a problem for me,” was how Paul started the conversation, leaning back in his chair.  “Because now I’m gonna have to replace you.”  

“What?” Felicity had breathed out, staring at him.  

Paul shrugged.  “This morning, Mr. Steele told me he was tired of hearing every other week about the company’s firewall nearly failing.  So he said you’re getting moved into the office attached to the server room, where you can work on making our security bullet-proof.  Either modify a commercially-available firewall or write your own, whatever you think is best.”  

Her mouth fell open as she kept staring at Paul.  He seemed to mistake her shocked silence for some kind of negotiating strategy.  “It’s no good to gape at me like that.  You’re taking the job--Mr. Steele insisted you be the one to do this.  Not only are you getting a private office, you’re also getting a big raise.”  Paul eyed her.  “If that’s the kind of thing you’re interested in.” 

She quickly closed her mouth and nodded several times.  “Yes!  Yes, it is.  I’d love to take the job.”  

He harrumphed.  “About time you took one of the promotions the company kept throwing at you.  Well, let’s go look at your office.  I think they’re making some modifications to it.  Dunno, but there’s been workmen in there all day.”

Standing up, Felicity followed Paul.  This was exactly what she needed: tasks that actually challenged her.  Improving the QC firewall would prove her worth--a project like this would let her use everything she had learned and apply it to a real world problem.  With the kind of research the company was doing, an off-the-shelf security product wouldn’t be enough--she would have to do so many modifications to any of the existing firewall packages, she would be better off writing her own.

Writing her own firewall.  Felicity nearly did a fist pump at the thought.  There were so many ideas crowding her mind--ideas that should blot out any desire to help gorgeous, mysterious billionaires with their weird problems.  Or, really, the one gorgeous, mysterious billionaire who liked to make her come twice at her desk.  

“Should be ready to go in a few days,” Felicity heard Paul say dimly.  She was too caught up in planning QC’s new impenetrable firewall to pay much attention to him.  That is, until he said her name loudly, in an impatient way that probably meant he had said her name a couple of times.

“What?!?” she said, snapping out of her thoughts.

Paul rolled his eyes.  “Mr. Steele wanted to see you once I gave you the news.  Up in his office.”

She didn’t like the sound of that.  Why would Mr. Steele want to see her?  He had just insisted she take a big promotion, when it was well-known she wasn’t looking to advance--why would he--

Oh, God.  What if he was buying her silence?  Was that what this was about, Mr. Steele insisting that she take this job?  And if that was what was going on, could she take the promotion, in good conscience?

Chewing on her lower lip, Felicity slowly made her way up to the executive floor.  When she stepped into Mr. Steele’s office, Felicity did her best to look calm and cool and collected.  None of which she felt.

“Ah, Ms. Smoak.  Please, sit down,” Mr. Steele said politely--but there was a distracted tone to his voice that made her nerves increase.  “I understand you've agreed to take the new position I had created for you.”

Created  _ for her _ ?  Oh, God, he was totally buying her off.  Felicity couldn't sit down.  She opened her mouth to protest, to say she didn't need a new position, that she was fine where she was and she wouldn't tell anyone about what she had discovered, but Mr. Steele didn't give her the chance.

“You recall the matter I had you research?  The 2.6 million dollar transaction that involved my wife?”

What?  Of course she remembered, why was he--

But then Felicity took a good long look at him, and she saw a man who was struggling with his world being upended.  And her heart went out to him, because Mr. Steele had been nothing but nice to her, and he was in this really bad place in part because of her.  So she wanted to help him.

Instead of telling him she didn't want what was her dream job, Felicity nodded.

Mr. Steele looked down and Felicity noticed for the first time the small notebook in his hand.  It was plain yet fancy looking, with brown covers and . . . the same symbol she had found in her unapproved Tempest-related digging, right in the middle of the front cover.

“I found this among my wife's things.  I was going you might be willing to investigate and determine its significance,” Mr. Steele said, his words very precise.  He held it out to her, then paused.  “I must caution you.  Do you know Josiah Hudson?  The head of QC security?”

Felicity nodded, having heard of him.  Feeling a shiver of something uncertain and edgy run down her spine at the serious expression on Mr. Steele’s face.

“I asked him to look into this, and within a day, he died in an accident,” Mr. Steele said.  “If you do not wish to risk it--”

Before he could finish his sentence, Felicity reached out and took the notebook.  It was instinctive, unplanned.  And absolutely crazy.  She was just some IT girl.  If someone came after her for this notebook, which seemed more liked the start of a movie than real life, she wouldn't stand a chance.  She might not have much of a life, but Felicity definitely didn't want to die.

In the same breath, though, as soon as she had seen that symbol, her fingers had itched to take the book and start examining it.  To unlock its secrets, to help Mr. Steele, to know what was going on.  She was a computer programmer, and this was a problem she could solve.

“Are you sure?” Mr. Steele asked, a note of worry in his voice.

“I hate mysteries,” Felicity said, holding his gaze.  “They bug me.  They need to be solved.”

And as she said the words, Felicity realized just how strongly she felt them.  Mysteries needed to be solved.  Once she cracked this notebook, she was going to turn her attention to the other mysteries in her life.  Like figuring out the way she was starting to change, and why it seemed connected to Oliver, and speaking of the utterly confounding Mr. Queen, she was going to figure him out, too.

She was a genius, after all.  And she wanted to know the truth about Oliver Queen.  Not from some prurient interest or anything.  But because nobody made her feel the way Oliver made her feel, and she wanted to know why.

But first, she had a mysterious notebook with blank pages to investigate.

XXX

Oliver leaned back in his seat, his stomach twisting slightly from the chili cheese fries, the wooden both starting to get uncomfortable under his ass.  But even more uncomfortable were Digg’s words, ringing in his head.

Not because he believed them, but because . . . he wanted to believe them.  Wanted to believe there was someone out there for him, someone who was the right fit in spite of all the wrongs he had done.  Both before the island, while he was there, and then after he had returned home.

If his life was a fairy tale, it would be comforting to think he had suffered in order to get a happy ending.  And before the Queen's Gambit went down, he had been a bit like Prince Charming.

Now, though . . . he wasn't the hero in the fairy tale.  He was the monster in a horror movie.  There was no happy ending for him--he was too broken for that.  What had happened with Laurel and with Helena proved that.

Ruefully, Oliver looked over at his partner.  Digg was at the counter, deep in conversation with Carly.  One of these days, Oliver would have to ask him about that.  Had John noticed Carly first, before his brother?  Did Digg start carrying a torch for his future sister-in-law from the moment they met?  What was it like to only feel like you were cheating, instead of actually cheating?

But if there was anyone who could make such a fraught relationship work, it was Digg.  Oliver hadn't known him for long, but he felt confident in that assessment.

If only there was a way Oliver could take Digg’s advice.  But he couldn't.  It just didn't seem possible there was someone out there for him.  Besides, how likely was it that he would live long enough to meet the right person?  What he did, the price he had to pay . . . it didn't exactly predict a long lifespan.

Maybe Helena had the right idea, with wanting to keep things as just sex.  Relationships were hard; God knew he had never had a successful one.  The best course might be to look for nothing more than a physical connection with a woman.  At least until he felt like he had his bearing, at least until he had done more to save his city.

It wasn't that he was opposed to celibacy.  Maybe the only good thing the island had taught him was how to control his dick.  But just the thought of sex made him think of plush lips and blonde hair.  Of intelligent blue eyes and pale, sensitive skin.

There was no way he could have a relationship with Felicity.  She was altogether too insightful to not put the pieces of his life together and get the Hood.  And trying to date her, to have movie nights and breakfasts together . . . she deserved someone who could commit to her.  It was one thing to have a one-night stand in college.  But Felicity was older and wiser now.  She would want more.  More than he could provide.

What he could give her was sex.  He knew the two of them together equaled heat and passion.  It had been true five years ago and it was still true.  When he had eaten her out under her desk, he had needed to occasionally squeeze his dick and balls, adjusting himself within the confines of his jeans.  He got half-hard just imagining being inside her once again.

And when he had seen her again, asking her to help with the Reston case . . . she had walked into Walter’s office and for that first moment, she had looked excited, eager--but then she saw they weren’t alone and her face had fallen.  She had looked disappointed.

If he showed up in her office again--in the new, more private office she would have, thanks to the position Walter had mentioned creating for her--Oliver thought she wouldn't turn him away.

He could go to any woman for sex.  No, he was looking for something very specific.  He didn’t know what to call it--passion?  Lust?  Fulfillment?  He didn’t know what it was, but he knew that what he needed, Felicity was the perfect choice.

End, Chapter 2


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some of you might have felt a bit disappointed at the lack of smut in the last chapter. That is not a complaint you could make about this chapter. :-) I hope y’all enjoy seeing how Oliver and Felicity’s relationship progresses!

 

As the days became shorter, more hours of darkness meant more opportunities for all kinds of criminals.  From the muggers to the robber barons, the evil element of Starling City were well-represented with the approach of the holidays.  

Yet none of the criminals Oliver went after, none of the names on the List, required any kind of technological assistance to be caught.  Which meant he had no reason to visit Felicity.  No seemingly strange task to justify why he had come to see her.  

And it was annoying him to the point of complete distraction.

Of course he could just go to Queen Consolidated to see her.  He could pass it off as seeing her new office--and then they could christen it--but that didn't fit with what they had.  What he would let their interactions be.  Seeing Felicity was about getting her help when he needed it.  His dick going stiff every time he thought of her was not a valid reason to go see her.

The murder of Adam Hunt, the first name he had crossed off the List, gave him the reason he needed.  Because Hunt was found with three arrows in him--and they weren't Oliver's.

Thanks to the strange kind of partnership the Hood was developing with Detective Lance, Oliver got one of the arrows used in the murder.  And they intrigued him.  If they had been generic arrows, the kind you could find in any sporting goods store, he would have assumed someone was trying to be a copycat, using the Hood’s MO to cover their own reasons for killing Hunt.  But these arrows were custom, made from a polymer Oliver didn't recognize.

Which meant he had a perfect reason to visit Felicity in her new office--the office she had thanks to the position that Walter had created for her.  Oliver had told his stepfather how helpful Felicity had been to him, believe it would subtly encourage him to give Felicity more responsibility.  Because they both knew Felicity was too intelligent to be working an entry-level job at his family's company.  Not that they had realized that fact in the same way.  Walter had come through in a big way, though.  

Not only was Felicity's new position worthy of her, it came with an office that was remote and soundproofed to boot.  Walter had said it was due to the hum of the servers being too loud, but Oliver hadn't really paid much attention to the explanation or reasons why.  Because his brain--both of them--were too busy thinking about what a soundproofed office meant.

It had been a few weeks since he had seen Felicity, so when Oliver stepped into her office, he kept his footsteps light, his approach nearly silent, even as he closed the door behind him.  It helped that Felicity was totally engrossed by her work, because it gave him the perfect opportunity to observe her.  Take her in when she wasn't aware.  Look for more information about this woman he had first encountered five years ago.  A woman who had strangely intrigued him, despite being far from his normal type.  She had been brunette, yes, but her attitude was different from his normal conquests.  He had always gone for women who possessed a sultry allure and a compliant nature.  

Felicity . . . she wasn't like that.  Then or now.  And it wasn't about her hair color or her blue eyes that showed every emotion she felt.  No, it was something about  _ her _ that drew him in.  Some quality about her that kept surprising him, kept haunting him.  Something that made him ignore all common sense.  Because common sense said the moment he realized Felicity Smoak, computer technician at Queen Consolidated, was the same Felicity he had screwed five years ago, Oliver should have avoided her at all cost.

But avoiding her was the last thing Oliver wanted to do.

Well aware that he had been staring at her, lost in his thoughts, Oliver shook himself to break out of contemplating the hold that she had on him.  “Hey,” he said quietly.

Not quietly enough, though.  Felicity jumped, looking up from the tablet she was holding.  “Don't you knock?”

Oliver couldn't help the small, somewhat-rusty chuckle he let out.  “Felicity, it's the IT Department, not the ladies’ room.”

Felicity opened her mouth, then closed it as she gave a little nod of her head, as if acknowledging he was right without saying the words.  She tapped on her tablet screen and then put it down.  “What can I do for you?”

If he was Ollie, that question would have prompted a smirk and a bad pick-up line.  Instead, Oliver shoved aside the suggestion he wanted to make and told himself work first, pleasure later.

Using a lie about his friend Steve and his interest in archery, Oliver produced the unknown archer’s arrow and handed it over to Felicity.  His admonishment for her to be careful as she took it came as a surprise to him, but he didn't have the time to figure out why he had given her that warning or why it surprised him.  Or perhaps it was more he would rather examine Felicity some more, taking in the blue button-down she was wearing and noticing how, even in the low lighting, her eyes looked so bright and blue.

Just like the first two times he had come to her, Felicity easily found the information he was looking for: a company name and an address.  She made it look so effortless, so easy.  Nothing had come easy to Oliver--not his physical strength, not his tactical ability.  Nothing he did as the Hood had been based off any kind of natural aptitude.  It made him wonder what Felicity had to work at in order to improve.

“Felicity, you're remarkable,” he said, giving voice to his thoughts as he took the paper with the info on Sagittarius.  The words so perfectly reflected his thoughts, while also giving him a way to turn the conversation away from work, that Oliver felt a momentary flicker of pride.

Especially when he saw how Felicity responded to the compliment.  “Thank you for remarking on it,” she told him, her cheeks a pale pink and her voice infused with pleasure.  

How could he do anything but remark upon it?  Felicity  _ was _ remarkable, with how she helped him without asking unnecessary questions, all while clearly recognizing there was more to him than met the eye.  When they had first met, her keen intelligence was combined with a take-no-prisoners attitude.  That Felicity would have never gone along with him and his awful cover stories.  Oliver suspected whatever had happened to her in the intervening five years had tempered that attitude, giving her a kind of wisdom he had never seen before.

And those five years had also made her even more attractive to him.

Oliver took a breath, tilting his head to the side as he looked at her.  “Are you looking forward to Christmas?” he asked, letting his voice become slower, more relaxed.

“I'm Jewish,” Felicity said quickly.  “So, no, not really.”

“Oh,” he said as his mind raced to recover from the blunder.  “I guess you're looking forward to Hanukkah, then?”

Her eyes widened ever so slightly, like she hadn't expected him to say that.  “Yeah.  I mean, it's the fifth night of Hanukkah tonight, so it's already happening.  Although traditionally the gifts come on the eighth night, unless you're a little kid.  So yes, I am looking forward to Hanukkah.”

It was all he could do to not grin at her.  Because she was just such a breath of fresh air.  She was like no one else he knew--she made him feel differently than anyone else in his life.  Like he hadn't lost something he had thought was long gone.  And realizing she brought out that quality in him drew him to her like they were magnets.

“Why on the eighth night?” he asked, slowly walking around her desk and leaning back on it, looking down at her.  Close enough that his knee brushed against her thigh.

She looked up at him.  “Because it's the last night.”

“Hmmm,” he murmured, reaching out and running his hand down her arm.  “So I guess the other nights feel less special, right?”

Those bright pink lips of hers parted, the tip of her tongue flashing out to moisten her lips.  Oliver felt his dick jump in his pants.  “A . . . a little, yeah.”

He nodded, doing his best to appear unaffected.  “I thought so.  Stand up, Felicity.”

Felicity's eyebrows drew together, her look so similar to the one she had worn when he had said his coffee shop was in a bad neighborhood, that Oliver had to grin at her.  “I want to make tonight, the fifth night of Hanukkah, special for you.  So stand up, please.”

Her face smoothed out slightly and then she gave him a charming little smirk of a smile.  “Only because you said please.”

Grinning again at the banter, more gentle and teasing than how it had been before between them, Oliver watched as Felicity rose from her chair, facing him.  But that wasn’t what he wanted.  

That night five years ago, they had enjoyed several different positions.  But he hadn’t taken her from behind.  And lately, Oliver had found himself thinking a lot about Felicity’s ass.  Wondering if it was just as good as he remembered.

His fingers rested lightly on Felicity’s shoulders as he turned her around while moving to stand behind her, feeling the warmth of her body as he got close to her.  He leaned forward, his hips coming up against her backside as he placed his hands flat on her desktop.  Then, the corner of his mouth turning up, he ran his nose along the line of her neck and whispered in Felicity’s ear.

“Whoa, your ass.”

XXX

If Oliver’s voice hadn’t been so low and sexy, she would have laughed at him remembering his futile-but-not-really pick-up line and using it again now.  If his body hadn’t felt so firm and solid against her back, she would have flirted with him.  And definitely, if he didn’t smell so good and feel so warm, she would have asked if she could face him, since this position didn’t really do much for her.  

But if she opened her mouth to say any of those things, Felicity was pretty sure she would let out a loud, embarrassing moan.  So instead, she bit her lower lip and said, “I guess there was no one to practice pick-up lines on while you were gone.”

“What, you don't like thinking about our first time together?” Oliver asked, nuzzling her neck.

“Nostalgia's all well and good, Oliver, but I think I deserve better than your frat boy lines,” she told him, glancing at him over her shoulder.  Feeling surprised that she wasn't nervous about her words.  Because she did deserve better.  As good as it had been with Oliver five years ago, she wanted more.  She wanted this Oliver, the man who had been tested by the last five years and become someone different from the man he had been.

He was someone she thought she might be able to trust.  Which was strange considering the circumstances, but you couldn't help how you felt.

And right now, she felt more turned-on than she had been in years.

Because Oliver gave her a little smile, one that was confident and full of heat, and nodded.  “I agree.”

Then he pressed his jeans-covered cock against the cleft of her ass and Felicity bit down on her lip.  “Your ass is better than it was in college,” he said quietly.  “I noticed that the last time I saw you and it's been all I could think about since then.”

“Oliver,” she stuttered out, only to let out a soft whimper when his tongue played with her earring, lightly brushing both his tongue and the dangly metal of her earring against her earlobe.  

Before him, she hasn't realized her ears were a hot spot for her.  And Oliver sure liked lavishing attention on them.  After he played with her earring, he moved to her other ear.  But this time, he drew her lobe into his mouth, sucking slowly.

One of his hands lifted from its spot on her desk to stroke her front, his fingers running over her torso.  When she squirmed a little, trying to get his hand to press more firmly against her breast, she accidentally drove her ass back against his cock, making him huff out a soft groan.

“God, you feel good,” he mumbled into the skin of her neck, sending heat and dampness over her.  And not just on her neck.  Already, she could feel the moisture growing in her core, readying her for what she wanted so badly.

But she didn't want to rush this.  She wanted this to be slow, so she could categorize all the sensations Oliver was making her feel, so she could remember how good it felt to be fucked.  So she would know what she was looking for, once she was fully over Cooper thanks to this strange rebound thing with Oliver.

Not that she had been thinking about Cooper much lately.  And certainly not now, with Oliver starting to slowly and shallowly rock his hips against her ass.  And with his big, warm hand now cupping her breast through her blouse.

Which would be so much better skin-to-skin.  Lifting her hands from where they had been pressing against her desk, she unbuttoned the top four buttons and spread the edges of her blouse wide.  She glanced down quickly and felt relieved that she was wearing one of her good bras, a little blue number with lace along the cups.

“Mmmm, very nice.”  Oliver's voice rumbled in his chest, the vibrations moving into her back and making her feel warm.  “More than nice, really--amazing.  Especially from this angle.”

She couldn't help a small snort of laughter, but then Felicity sighed as Oliver's hand lightly stroked the hollow of her throat before sliding slowly down her chest, towards the tops of her breasts.

God, he was making her feel so good.  Not just with his touch--although wow, the callouses on his fingers felt  _ amazing  _ against her skin, even more than she had remembered from the last time he had touched her.  But it wasn't just his touch.  No, it was his words.  The little compliments, the warmth in his voice, the sincerity she couldn't help hearing.  Maybe she was imagining it, but she thought this was more than just a fuck for Oliver.

Felicity took Oliver's hand squeezing her breast as a mental shake.  Just because this was only sex didn't mean there couldn't be caring or kindness.  At least, that was what she remembered from their first time--from every time she had been with Oliver.  Despite being a spoiled playboy, maybe Oliver was just determined to give his partner a good time.  To care for her.  Which made him better than the image he presented to the world, which meant she hadn't been wrong to sense the potential in him to be a good man.

But right now, she wanted to stop thinking and just feel.  So she closed her eyes and let herself melt back against him, letting go of the control to which she had been clinging.  Oliver was here to make her fifth night of Hanukkah special.  And she wanted to feel special.  

Oliver picked up in the change in her.  Because the hand on her breast moved her bra down and began to roll and pinch her nipple, just as she liked.  His other arm wrapped around her, under her breasts, holding her up and against him.  “Lean forward, put your hands on the desk, Felicity,” he said into her ear, his words coming fast with an extra bite to them.

She did as he said, once again abusing her lower lip to hold back her groans.  Because this position pushed her ass back, allowing Oliver to grind against her.

“Yes, Oliver--” she said through clenched teeth.  “No, wait--”

He immediately stopped moving, his hand slackening against her breast.  “What?” he stuttered, his body practically trembling.  

Felicity grinned a little.  Knowing he was turned on made her feel a surge of power.  “Let me do this,” she said, pulling her skirt up.

A rush of cool air over her back told her that Oliver had stepped away from her.  Looking over her shoulder, she saw him, his eyes most definitely fixed on her ass.  She grinned wider as she slowed her hands, lifting her skirt inch by inch.

“God, Felicity, hurry,” Oliver panted.

She didn't have the brainpower for banter, not when she had a red-faced and panting Oliver Queen waiting for her.  Without any further delay, she pulled her skirt up and over her curves, letting it settle around her waist and leaving her ass covered only by her skimpy thong.

A style of underwear she had started wearing regularly ever since the day after Oliver's first visit to her office.

His reaction was everything a woman could want.  He stared, then let out a groan.  “Fuck.”

“Yes, please,” she said confidently, feeling downright giddy with lust.  She leaned forward again, her hands on her desk.  As her ass jutted out, Oliver groaned again and shoved his denim-clad cock against her almost-bare ass.

“Yes,” she moaned, long and high-pitched, until she remembered the need to be quiet.  But it was hard, it was  _ so _ hard, with Oliver grinding against her, with his hand squeezing her breast just this side of too hard before scraping his blunt fingernails over her tight nipple.  She rocked back against him, using her hands to give herself extra leverage, biting her lip to hold back her grunts.  When that wasn't doing the job, she lifted one of her hands to her mouth, her teeth sinking into the heel of her hand.

And then Oliver tugged her hand away.  “The office is soundproofed.  I want to hear you, Felicity.  Let me hear you.”

The fact that he wanted to hear her made her last brain cells die.  Felicity shoved her ass back, rubbing against his cock and moaning.  “Fuck, Oliver, need you inside me . . .”

Oliver yanked on her thong, tugging it down and letting it fall to the floor.  She stepped out of it, spreading her legs and feeling how wet she was.  And her clit was throbbing so hard, Felicity had to reach down and rub it, closing her eyes at the sensations.  

“No,” Oliver grunted, pushing aside her hand.  “Me.”  His wide, thick fingers moved so fast over her clit, one of his callouses hitting it just right and making Felicity moan loudly.  Especially when she could feel Oliver’s cock jumping against her ass--he must have gotten only so far as undoing his jeans before he decided to take over for her.  

“Now!” she panted, swaying on her heels.

XXX

“Now!” Felicity breathed out, her body squirming in his arms.  One of his hands was squeezing her breast, the other fondling her clit, and Oliver wondered why he was drawing this out so much.  Because as soon as he had pressed up against her ass, he had wanted to be inside her.  But she was just so damn intoxicating.  

Her body was so soft and warm, yet firm and toned.  She was amazingly sensitive, reacting to the smallest touch.  It turned him on so much, made him feel crazy, made holding on to his control the biggest challenge he had ever faced.  

But they were both ready, both burning with lust.  Oliver let go of Felicity’s breast, prompting a soft whine from her even as she rubbed against the hand between her legs.  

“Just a minute, Felicity,” he whispered in her ear, shoving his jeans and boxer briefs down before fumbling for his wallet.  

“Hurry,” she said, trembling.  “I’m so close--”  

The caveman side of him flared to life.  He didn’t want her to come until he was inside her.  So he could feel her muscles clamping down on his dick.  He pulled his hand from her clit, ignoring the moisture on his fingers as he opened his wallet and snagged the condom he had put there this morning.  

Felicity let out a long groan, pushing her ass back.  “Oh, God, please . . .”

His fingers felt clumsy as he got the condom on, hissing out a breath when the touch of his hands made his dick jump and played with his already-frayed control.  He put one hand on Felicity’s hip, nuzzling her neck.  

And then, he slid inside her, meaning to do it slowly.  But once the tip of his dick slipped past her lips, Oliver just couldn’t do anything but thrust all the way in.  The sight of his dick disappearing between the cheeks of her ass made him grunt gutturally, his hand tightening on her hip.  

“Oh, fuck yes, Oliver!” Felicity moaned, wiggling against him and making his eyes cross.  “Fuck, you’re so hard . . .”  

“For you,” he said, softly against her neck, before he nipped at her earlobe.  Then he straightened up a little and pulled out, before ramming back into her, harder and faster than the first time.  

She let out a gasp, her body tensing.  “Ooooooh . . .”  

Around his dick, her walls were already fluttering, showing how close she was.  He remembered, their first time together, she had pushed him to be rougher.  If she liked it rough, he would give it to her.  

Oliver set up a bruising pace, both his hands holding her hips under her skirt as he thrust into her.  His balls began to smack against her ass, punctuating their groans and pants.  But he knew he couldn’t last long like this--and he wanted Felicity to come first.  He  _ needed  _ her to come first.  

Slowing his thrusts slightly, Oliver brought his lips to her ear.  He lightly bit on her earlobe, making Felicity yelp and thrust back against him.  

“You like this.  I can feel it,” he said between pants.  “Gonna make you come so hard . . .”

With that, he used his teeth to tug lightly on her industrial piercing.  At the same time, he moved one hand from her hip, sliding it along the crease of her thigh to her center.  He pressed his finger hard against her clit.  

For a long, eternal moment, Felicity was frozen in his arms.  Then, letting out a noise that was half-squeal, half-moan, she was clenching around him, she was shaking and trembling, she was climaxing and totally giving herself over to her pleasure.  

And Oliver felt something he had never felt before.  An epic swell of emotion.  Pride that he had done this to her, amazement at how unrestrained she was, and most of all, happiness.  Happiness that he was able to make one person content and fulfilled and  _ happy _ .

He didn’t think he had that in him anymore.  Ever since he had returned, he kept disappointing everyone.  His family, his friends, his city . . . he never felt like he was doing enough, never felt like  _ he  _ was enough.  

But right here, right now?  He was able to satisfy Felicity.  He didn't disappoint her.  He was able to make her happy.  

Closing his eyes, Oliver thrust shallowly, helping draw out Felicity’s climax.  He almost forgot about his own body, so lost in the feel of her.  

A light touch against the back of his head made his eyes pop open.  His gaze immediately locked with Felicity’s.  She had turned her head to look back at him, bringing one of her arms up so she could stroke her fingers through his hair.  “C’mon, Oliver . . . let go,” she said quietly, her eyes warm and soft, full of kindness.  

It was too much.  His body was screaming for release, but it suddenly seemed less important than looking into Felicity’s eyes.  Yet at the same time, her eyes were so open, he felt like he could fall into them.  And that scared him.  

Somewhere deep inside him, Oliver felt something change.  Something he couldn’t name, something he didn’t want to explore.  It made him close his eyes and focus on thrusting, focus on his rock-hard dick sliding into her warm wet softness. 

When he climaxed, it felt like it lasted forever.  Felicity clenched her muscles around him, prolonging his climax just like he had done for her, and Oliver closed his eyes and gave over to the sensations.

“Fuck yeah, Felicity . . . yeah, drain me dry, God . . . you feel so good . . .”

Even in the dazed pleasure of his amazing climax, Oliver made sure he kept one arm braced on her desk, so he wouldn’t collapse against her and crush her.  But he still slumped on top of her, their clothes sticky and sweaty against their skin.

His face was pressed into her neck, so he could feel as her breathing slowed, could feel her pulse returning to normal.  And in that moment, he didn't want to move.  He wanted to stay right there, with Felicity's skin under his lips, her scent filling his nose and making his post-climax haziness even better.

It couldn't last forever, though.  He shouldn't want it to, either.  This was just sex.  Fucking fantastic sex, yes, but just sex.  It was his meager way of thanking Felicity for her help, giving her some encouragement and confidence.  Because for some reason, Felicity had been hiding herself away, thinking she didn't deserve to be as amazing as she was.  If he could make her see what an incredible woman she was, maybe he would actually be good for something . . .

Oliver took in one last deep breath, savoring the fragrance of sex and Felicity, before he pulled back a little.  He pulled out of her and stripped off the condom.  Felicity gave a little shiver as he left her, then sighed.  “Mmmmm.”

Trying to keep his voice light and casual, he pulled up his boxers and jeans.  “I think that made tonight special, huh?”

Felicity let out a soft laugh as she crouched down, stepping into her thong.  “Why is this night different from all other nights?  Although that's Passover, not Hanukkah, but the sentiment sure fits.”

As she spoke, she straightened her clothes.  Oliver watched as she turned around, her hands fastening the last button on her blouse.  Other than her slightly-messy ponytail and her flushed cheeks, no one would know that she had just been fucked by Oliver Queen.

Which was a good thing.  Oliver wouldn't want her to suffer the extra attention and judgement if anyone knew about them.  She deserved better than that--better than him.

Reaching out, he lightly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.  “Happy Hanukkah, Felicity.”

Her smile was as bright as the candles she would be lighting tonight.  “Merry Christmas, Oliver.”

For some reason, his eyes dropped to her lips.  Her lipstick still looked perfect, even with the way she had been biting her lip as he touched her.  It made him wonder how long and how hard he would have to kiss her before her lipstick smudged.

Kissing her on the mouth was something he hadn't done yet.  They had kissed plenty during their first night together, but now it was different.  A wall he had erected between them.  Something about a kiss felt far too intimate for the strange, fucked-up situation he had put them in.

He dropped his hand from where it had been resting against her hair and took a step back.  “Thank you.  I'll see you.”

The words were abrupt, harsh.  Felicity's smile dimmed and then she nodded her head.  “See you,” she said, easing down into her chair and turning to her computers.

Without another word, Oliver turned on his heel, leaving her office.  Very purposefully not walking fast, because he didn't want to draw attention to himself.  Didn't want anyone to think anything of him visiting the IT Department.  

Didn't want anyone to know why he came here.  Or who he came here for.

XXX XXX

As much as she had wanted to shake up her life, Felicity was starting to wonder if she had gone too far.  Because there was a big difference between ordering something different from your normal Chinese place or going a shade darker when you dyed your hair and what she was doing.

Namely, having the best sex of her life with a man who was  keeping secrets from her, telling her ridiculous lies, and was way better than this kind of behavior.

Her old self wouldn't have let this go.  After that lie about his buddy Steve the archer, the girl she used to be would have put a stop to this and told Oliver where to stick his bad lies.  Because she wasn't born yesterday.  She  _ knew _ he was lying to her.  And although she was trying not to think too much about what all these lies were spelling out, it was getting harder and harder.

And it had been ever since Mr. Steele had been kidnapped.

Mr. Steele had been nice to her.  He hadn't looked down on her because she babbled or because she was on the lowest rung of the IT Department.  He hadn't even blamed her for telling him something he was upset to know about.  Instead, he had given her a promotion.  Not to silence her, but because he saw something special in her.

Ever since that phone call, the one where he had stopped speaking to her mid-word, Felicity had wanted to do something to help find him.  Sure, the SCPD were looking for him, and the Queens had the money to pay for an army of private investigators, but . . . but that didn't make this feeling go away.  That she was partially responsible for his disappearance, with her extra digging into Tempest, which made Mr. Steele do some digging of his own, resulting in that little notebook full of names.  Names that included people who had been visited by the vigilante.

Which brought her right back to what she was trying not to think about when it came to Oliver.  Well, one of the things she was trying not to think about regarding him.  The thing that made her imagine him in head-to-toe green leather and a hood.

Giving her head a shake, Felicity used her chopsticks to stir her lo mein, feeling a pang at missing out on her usual order of Hunan beef.  The servers were humming away and she was waiting until it was after seven, so she could take one of the servers off-line and begin installing her firewall.

But all those plans went out the window when Oliver breezed into her office, closing the door behind him.

It had been several weeks since she had seen him.  Which she had partly expected with the holidays and Mr. Steele's disappearance, but she still felt a flutter of nerves at his arrival.  Wondering what tonight would hold.

Also, she wondered why on Earth she had picked a sweater vest, of all things, to wear this morning.  Because there were a thousand garments that were more sexy than a sweater vest.  Plus, she had Chinese food breath and she knew her hair was frizzy in its ponytail.

Oliver, of course, looked like a male model.  He gave her a small, lazy smile while she set aside her carton of food.

“And here I was beginning to think my days as Oliver Queen’s personal computer geek were coming to an end,” she said, trying to sound chipper and completely unaffected by him.

That made him smile a bit wider and tilt his head to the side.  “Is that your way of saying you missed me?”

_ Had she ever _ .  “No,” she replied quickly, before realizing how harsh that must have sounded.  “But if it works for you, go with it.”

Without any attempt at subtlety--but with a little laugh that she did  _ not  _ find adorable in the slightest--Oliver handed over a security key fob, spouting some fairy tale about a scavenger hunt.  Felicity had to give him credit: Oliver Queen could commit to a lie like nobody else.  The only reason she didn't immediately turn him down was because he mentioned wine.  Although calling a Lafitte-Rothschild 1982 a bottle of wine was like calling the rumored satellite frequency communicator TX50 a useful piece of computer equipment.

When he came around her desk immediately after handing it over, Felicity used only part of her brain to investigate the fob.  While her body was tingling from his nearness, the other part of her mind considered if it was time for her to make the first move.  If that was the next step in getting back to being more like her old self.

Her body weighed in with a resounding  _ yes _ .  But almost as emphatic was the response from her head.  Oliver had been the one in control during their rekindled sexual relationship.  It wasn't that she didn't like what had happened--but she wanted to set the pace this time.

The security fob’s military-grade cryptographic security protocol gave her the opening she needed.  She didn’t even have to say it would take her some time to get through it; Oliver realized what she was saying.  

And while it was nice that he was offering her a bottle of wine that was worth several thousand dollars, it made her feel even more determined to make a move.  Because he had never offered to give her a tangible expression of his thanks.  Not that she had any complaints about his intangible expressions.  Nothing that made her come as hard as she did with him was something to complain about.  

Other than he might not do that today, with offering her the wine.  Not unless she did something.  

Oliver started to move away and Felicity turned in her chair, grabbing his arm.  “This is a really big job, Oliver.”  

“I was aware of that,” he said, looking a bit confused.  

Felicity took a deep breath and stood up, leaning back against her desk.  “Yeah . . . so I could use something more than the promise of a bottle of wine to get me through all this work,” she said, her hands playing with the hem of her sweater vest.  

Slowly he straightened up, the confusion replaced with interest.  More than interest--attraction.  Maybe even lust.  Even though she was wearing a nerdy sweater vest.  

“What did you have in mind?” he asked, his voice low and deep and rich, making her want to squirm.

“Oh . . . I have a few ideas,” she said, pulling the vest up and over her head and letting it drop to the floor.  Slowly, she hitched first one ass cheek and then the other up onto her desk, while keeping her knees together demurely.  But Oliver’s eyes still dropped down to look at her legs, which made her smile a little as she started unbuttoning her blouse.  When his eyes lifted back to her face, they widened when he saw what she was doing.  

Happily, Oliver seemed to catch on quick.  Because after a moment, he stepped forward and rested his hands on her hips.  Then his head moved to the side of her neck, his lips pressing against her skin and spreading fire throughout her body.  

XXX

If he hadn’t come in here, flirting and offering up bottles of wine, this probably wouldn’t be happening, Oliver thought as he lavished Felicity’s soft, warm skin with kisses and licks.  

Although more accurately, it wouldn’t be happening like this: face to face, Felicity’s legs wrapped loosely around his hips, his hands slowly inching her blouse off so he could press kisses over her shoulders and collarbones.  

It was so much more intimate than anything they had shared since they had reconnected.  Warmer, deeper, more intense.  And maddening, because being so close to her mouth and not kissing her was . . . well, it was hard.  

But he wasn’t going to kiss her.  It didn’t matter that five years ago, he had kissed her many, many times.  Because it was different back then.  Now . . . now, he couldn’t mess this up.  Not with how he was growing to rely on Felicity.  

The information she provided him was invaluable to his work as the Hood.  She had already been the difference in several cases.  Whether it was helping him know where Deadshot’s next job was, finding Derek Reston, or giving him a lead on the Dark Archer, Felicity had given him what he needed.  

And not just in terms of information.  The way she let him know she knew he was lying to her, the way she let him lose himself in her body, the smiles and jokes . . . 

This was supposed to be just sex.  But it was becoming so much more.  

Which made the guilt lick at the edges of his mind, even as he sucked on the skin at the top of Felicity's breast.  Not enough to leave a hickey, although he wanted to.  Wanted to know he was leaving a mark on her, despite all his vows to not pull her down with him.  

Felicity was brilliant.  Not only in how intelligent and insightful she was, but in how she brought light to everything.  It made him wonder again what had happened to her.  What changed her from the cutting, sarcastic, dark-haired woman he had met five years ago into the babbling ball of sunshine in his arms now.  It didn't make sense.  The transformation should have happened the other way round.

All he could guess was that she had been hurt.  Hurt in a way that totally changed her.  Made her choose to become someone else--changing so thoroughly, it was almost like she could make that pain belong to someone else.

That was why he didn't suck too hard or scrape his nails too roughly over her skin.  Pink skin from beard burn or passion faded quickly.  Hickeys or scrapes lasted longer.  And once he crossed that line, it would be too easy to leave one of those marks someplace that could be seen by others.

Oliver knew he didn't have the right to decide what Felicity wanted or needed.  But if there was one thing he knew, it was that Felicity Smoak did not deserve a moment more of pain or hurt or discomfort.  So even in the grip of passion, he wouldn't let himself go too far.  

Besides, her skin was so smooth, so flawless.  He wanted to keep her like this.

While he had been caught up in the taste and feel and look of her skin, Felicity had decided to return the favor and drag her lips along the side of his neck, sucking lightly at the spot where his neck met his shoulder.  

Her hands were equally busy, pushing his jacket off.  It made a soft thump when it hit the floor, but Oliver didn’t notice.  Not with Felicity’s fingers wrapping under the hem of his sweater and shirt, lifting them up.  Like she wanted to take them off.

“No,” Oliver said, breaking away from her.  

Felicity looked confused.  “But--”

He couldn't let her see his body.  She already knew too much about him.  If she saw the scars on his torso, she would figure out things he didn’t want to her to know.  What he was scared of her discovering: all the ways he had failed.  His past mistakes and failures were bad enough--but she would look at him and know about his recent  shortcomings. 

How he hadn’t kept Walter safe, could barely protect his mother and sister, wasn’t able to beat the Dark Archer--and more realistically, she was bound to use that remarkable, sexy brain of hers to figure out that he was the Hood.

Gently but firmly, he lifted her hand from the hem of his sweater and moved it to his shoulder.  He reached down, under her skirt, and ripped off her thong.  She gasped and he leaned in to suck on her neck as one hand went between her legs.

“That--that was an expensive pair of underwear, Oliver . . . oooh, and don't--don't you dare say you'll buy me another--oh, God, yes--another pair . . .”

The way she kept talking, even as two of his fingers were inside her and his thumb was rolling her clit, made Oliver lift his head so he could smile at her.  So he could watch her face as he touched her.

“Okay, I won't say it.  I'll just bring you a new pair next time,” he told her, applying more pressure to her clit.  

She frowned at him while she rocked her hips.  “Oliver . . .” she hissed, her hands sliding down from his shoulders to the waistband of his jeans.  

“Yes,” he moaned impatiently.  “Felicity . . .”

Oliver watched as her hands undid his jeans, holding his breath so he wouldn't lose control.  She gave him a small, bright grin, enjoying the effect she had on him, and Oliver couldn't help grinning back.  “Proud of yourself, Ms. Smo--oh, God, Felicity.”

Because her hand was wrapped around his dick, and he couldn't remember the last time just the touch of a woman's hand made him feel like climaxing.

Lazily, she pumped him, her hand applying the perfect amount of pressure.  “You feel so good,” she murmured softly, wrapping her free arm around his neck.  Pulling him so close to her, to her warmth and her light and her lips.

And for a second, he entertained the idea of kissing her.  Wondering if she kissed differently from before, when it had been angry and forceful and hot.  This time . . . he thought it would be different.  Sweeter.  Deeper.  Better.

At the last moment, he turned his head so his lips dragged across her cheek.  He moved his mouth lower, taking her earlobe between his teeth, and Felicity let out such a sexy growl of a moan, Oliver felt his dick jump in her hand.

“No more teasing,” she said, her voice skating on the line between passion and anger.  “Condom?”  

Nodding quickly, he lifted one hand from her desk and fumbled for his wallet, taking the condom he had started carrying with him.  Just in case.  Just like in his Ollie days.  But this was so different from then.  In those days, he might forget to use the condom.  Especially if the girl didn’t ask.  Back then he thought he was untouchable, because he thought nothing bad could ever happen to him.  Things changed a bit after that mess with Samantha, but still, he usually didn’t bother worrying about whether he had a condom or not.  

But this was Felicity.  And he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her.  

Together, they ripped open the package and got the condom rolled over his dick, Oliver biting his lip at the feel of her hands.  Helping him, brushing against his fingers as they got ready.  She wrapped her legs around him and lined him up with her entrance, pulling him inside her.

And then they both moaned and Oliver wished this could last forever.

XXX

Taking charge was a good idea.  The  _ best _ idea, Felicity thought, as Oliver thrust into her, deep and hard and just the way she liked.  

Because yes,  _ it _ was hard and he was going so deep, and yes, Oliver seemed to have developed some weird resistance about kissing her.  But . . . it was somehow sweet this time.  Different from before.  A slow merging of their bodies, giving them time to savor each other.  Having sex face-to-face allowed for an extra intimacy.  

She already felt like there were times she looked into Oliver’s eyes and saw everything he was.  Good and bad, serious and silly, strong and flawed.  So to look into his eyes and see him, when he was buried inside her . . . 

It was no wonder her brain was already starting to short-circuit.

Oliver’s breath was hot and damp against her forehead.  One hand was pressed against her back, holding her against him.  The other was braced on her desk, giving him the necessary support to thrust into her.  His cock slid into her pussy, deep and true, making her feel stretched and full.  

Her hands fisted in his sweater, holding on to him.  God, he must be so hot--hotter than he already was, or more accurately, actual temperature hot versus looking like a male model hot.  Felicity wished he had let her undress him.  Beyond undoing his jeans, that is.  

Felicity had flaws, she knew.  But naivëte was not one of them.  If he was on a deserted island--or maybe not so deserted?--for five years, he probably had been injured at times during the years.  So she could guess he might feel self-conscious about showing his body, because he must have some scars.  And since they were looking into each other’s eyes as their bodies moved together . . . maybe Oliver needed to keep some kind of barrier up.  Not taking off his clothes, while uncomfortable, was definitely one way to put up a wall.

Maybe because he didn’t want to be  _ that  _ intimate with her.

God, this was so dangerous.  If her brain was capable of functioning right now, it would be pointing out all the reasons this wouldn’t work.  He was damaged, she was guarded, they had completely different backgrounds . . . and this was supposed to be just a rebound.  Helping her get over Cooper so she could find a nice, kinda-nerdy guy to date.  Someone who liked spending Saturday nights on the couch marathoning  _ Doctor Who _ , not a guy who liked hitting the club scene.  Someone whose biggest tragedy was divorced parents or a beloved pet dying, not spending five years marooned.  Someone who was perfect for her.  

Because Oliver Queen was  _ not  _ perfect for her.  

“I--I must not be doing this right,” Oliver panted in her ear.  “You’re thinking.”

“Ugh,” she grunted as he went a little harder.  “Just--so much--going on in here,” she said, gesturing to her head.  “You’re--you’re good.”

He grinned a little and ducked his head, pressing his lips against her cheek.  Felicity shivered and held on to him.  “Oliver . . .”

Her voice sounded soft and shaky to her ears.  Oliver lifted his head and looked at her.  Dimly, she was aware that his thrusts were slowing down.  Going slower so he could go deeper.  Because God, she didn't think anyone had ever been this deep in her, not in this position.

It felt perfect.

“Felicity,” he whispered, his eyes flicking down to her mouth before returning to her eyes.

Had she thought he wanted to keep her at a metaphorical arm’s length?  No--no, he didn't.  She could see that he didn't.  Felicity could see the loneliness, the sadness, in him.  The desire for a connection, a need for  _ someone _ .

She didn't understand.  He had his family.  His friends.  Mr. Diggle.  Even Laurel Lance, his apparent love of his life according to the gossip rags.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Felicity pulled Oliver closer.  Now she felt guilty, especially since this was the first time she had remembered Laurel in all the times Oliver had visited her.  But Oliver never talked about her . . .

That didn't matter.  What mattered was the sixty-four dollar question.  With so many people that cared about him, why was Oliver Queen with her?

The only way to get an answer to that question was to ask him.  But to ask Oliver why he kept coming to see her would change this, more than a little bit of eye-gazing during sex would.  Because whatever he said, Felicity didn't think the answer would let them continue this.

When it came to Oliver, though, there were so many questions.  Ones she didn't like to think about, ones she didn't want to ask, ones that were just her curiosity at work.

How had he survived on that island?  Why did he keep coming to see her, keep coming to her for this?

Was he the vigilante?

As if he could read her mind, Oliver thrust and hit a spot inside her that made her see stars.

“Again,” she gasped, opening her eyes and looking at him.  “There, Oliver--again, again!”

His mouth twisted from the effort he was expending, but he nodded and, in a strangely perfect show of gentleness, nuzzled her, his nose brushing against hers.  “Yes, Felicity . . .”

Oliver did it again, some move with his hips that made the tip of his cock hit a very good spot inside her, and Felicity groaned.  “So good,” she crooned, tightening her legs seeing him.  “God, Oliver, what you make me feel--it's too much, it's too good, it's everything . . .”

She didn't know if he was even hearing her.  He gave no sign of reacting to her words, just kept thrusting in the same way, kept lighting her up and making her clutch at him like he was the only solid thing in her life.  And she knew this wasn't what ‘just sex’ felt like, and she knew this was no longer a rebound, but Felicity couldn't think about any of that now.

No, because she was coming, hard and intense, her muscles fluttering and clamping down around Oliver's cock, making him groan in her ear, making him thrust a few more times before she felt his body shudder and relax against hers.

Breathing deeply, Felicity let her head drop to his shoulder, her face close to his neck.  There were no thoughts in her head.  No worries, no fears.  They had all been silenced, for now, by the magic of two bodies connecting.

By the magic of her and Oliver.  Because Felicity never whited out like this with any other man.  Five years ago, she had thought it was a fluke.  Now she knew it was no fluke.  And Oliver's ability to wipe away all her thoughts was getting stronger, better.

Because she was so tempted in this moment to ask him for more.  More for her . . . and more for him.

Whether or not he was the vigilante, Oliver Queen deserved more.  Just like she did.

Did that mean . . . they deserved each other?

End, Chapter Three


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really thrilled with how everyone responded to the last chapter! Hearing from several readers that the character interactions and the emotions were better than the smut just totally made my day. :-) I hope I continue to give you all the feels with this chapter!
> 
>  **ETA: Possible Trigger**  
>  It was brought to my attention that Oliver's hallucination could be a trigger for some readers. It never crossed my mind, nor the minds of my beta & first reader, that this could be the case. I apologize for this honest mistake and hope this warning will prevent any discomfort to readers. If you avoid reading the italicized section at the beginning of this chapter, I believe you would avoid any potentially triggering content.

 

As he walked into Queen Mansion after a night coming down from Vertigo, Oliver still felt a bit shaky.  A bit uncertain  But how he felt didn’t matter.   

He was doing all of this for Thea.  And that made every bit of it--squaring off with Alexi and the Bratva, giving money to the Count, ducking the questions of Detective Lance, coping with his old friend McKenna now being Detective Hall, even getting a first-hand look at what made Vertigo so dangerous--worth it.

Even with what it had made him see.

_ Felicity let out a gasp as he rammed into her.  It sounded like she was crying.  “Oliver--” she whimpered. _

_ His fingers wrapped around her ponytail and gave a hard yank, his body not obeying his mind’s frantic commands to stop, to be gentle.  With his rough tug, her head was pulled back, so he could see her face and the tears in her eyes. _

_ Matching the tears he felt running down his cheeks.  _

_ “Felicity, I'm sorry.  I never wanted to hurt you--please believe me,” he begged as he thrust even harder into her.   _

_ But she didn't say anything.  Anything other than his name. _

_ “Oliver--” she screamed.  Screamed in pain as he fucked her so hard, she split in two.  He watched as her body was divided in two, slowly parting from her crotch to the top of her head with each thrust he made.  And through it all, she was screaming his name, until she couldn’t scream any more.   _

_ Because she was just lying in pieces in front of him.  _

Her screams were still ringing in his head.  Making him feel jumpy, like he was coming out of his skin.  Even now, sixteen hours after he had been injected with Vertigo, he couldn't shake the feelings.  Couldn’t shake the darkness, the guilt, the fear.  

The need to see Felicity was a clawing thing in his gut.  Thank God there was a reason for him to see her, though.  The syringe of Vertigo that Digg had recovered could lead them to the Count, once he asked Felicity to analyze it.  And the sooner the Count was off the streets, the better.

In the past, Oliver had barely dabbled with drugs.  They had always been more of Tommy's thing--and strangely, Laurel, who used to say that molly made her feel better than booze.  Which Oliver had never understood; at least with alcohol, you knew what you were going to get.  So while he wasn't an expert, he knew something about coming down and what a bad trip felt like.

But Vertigo was in a whole different class from the club drugs he had occasionally indulged in during his Ollie days.  If this was how half a dose made him feel, no wonder people were getting hooked after just one hit--if they were lucky enough to survive it.

And if this was how his baby sister had felt, if she had suffered a tenth of the pain and fear, Oliver was ready to tear the Count apart.

“Oliver--”

Digg’s voice, speaking his name calmly, overlaid Felicity's scream.  He closed his eyes and gave his head a shake.  It was the Vertigo.  It had crafted a new nightmare, combining several fears into one.  But it wasn't real.

He would never hurt Felicity.   _ Never _ .

It was just a hallucination.  It hadn’t really happened.  Felicity was fine.  And so was Thea.  She was going to be working with Laurel, thanks to Detective Lance’s intervention.  He hoped the work would help his sister.  Help her get on a different path from the one he had been on at her age.  Right now, she was hugging their mother, making up after their fight.    

With his family safe, he could focus on Count Vertigo.  Getting him and his poison off the streets.  

That was what mattered right now.  Turning away from watching his family, Oliver headed for the stairs.  As he walked past Digg, his erstwhile bodyguard asked, “Now what?” 

“Like you said, we analyze the Vertigo,” Oliver said.  “It’s in liquid form, which means it contains water, so maybe we can trace back to where in the city the Count--”

Oliver stopped, his vision blurring.  He suddenly felt sweaty, his skin itching, his clothes too heavy.  His legs wobbled underneath him and he swayed, his hand gripping the banister tightly to keep himself upright.  

Dimly, he heard Digg say his name.  But he could hear Felicity screaming again.  

“ . . . is cooking up this garbage,” he muttered, his head swimming.  He slumped against the railing, then fell to the floor, seeing two Diggles above him, asking him if he was all right.  

“Just--just gimme a minute.”  The words sounded strange to his ears, slurred yet echoing.  

“You can’t stay here, Oliver--your mother or sister will show up any second,” Digg said, pulling him up to a sitting position.  “You need a hospital.”

A wave of nausea hit him, making him press his lips together instead of replying.  Thankfully, it passed as quickly as it came, letting Oliver speak.  “No--no, we need to go to Queen Consolidated.  Get Felicity the sample.  I’ll be fine.”  

His vision was clearing enough for him to meet Digg’s gaze, to silently communicate he was okay.  The way this drug lingered in the system--even with his metabolism and the amount of time since the injection, a half dose shouldn’t still be affecting him.  Which meant stopping the Count was the first priority.  And Digg knew that.  

Sighing, his friend nodded.  “Okay.  But if you have another spell, I’m taking you to the lair and hooking you up to an IV.”  

“Fair,” Oliver agreed.  In fact, that was probably what he should have done when he woke up.  “Let’s go.”  

Diggle helped him to his feet, staying close by his side as Oliver walked down the stairs.  It would have rankled, if Oliver wasn’t aware it was concern, not his job, that made Digg watch him so closely.  

In this moment, he felt grateful to his mother for foisting Digg on him.  Because John Diggle had gone from a thorn in his side to a partner at his side, in a completely unexpected way.  Had he really consider killing this man once?  Oliver didn’t like to think about that, because if he had followed through on his original plans, he would have never known what he would have missed.  

Without Digg, he wouldn’t feel safe going to see Felicity right now.  Because if Vertigo played tricks on him, Digg would be there.  Digg wouldn’t hesitate to step in, to protect Felicity, to disarm Oliver.  And Digg wasn’t just morally prepared to do so--he was physically able.  

Right now, he needed that safety net.  For Felicity . . . and for himself.  Because with the Count’s poison still in his veins, Oliver did not trust himself.  

But he trusted Digg.

XXX

By this point, Felicity thought she knew what to expect from Oliver.  He’d come to her, asking for some kind of strange favor, using an unbelievable cover story to hide the strangeness.  And then they would have sex, continuing this not-relationship.  

But the whole time since they had reconnected, he kept doing things that she hadn’t anticipated.  Like today: showing up on the executive floor when she had just left the quarterly IT--Applied Sciences mixer.  The kind of event she hadn’t had the courage to attend until now.  Because she felt ready to start making a name for herself at Queen Consolidated.  Being recognized for her talents and skills.  After all, Mr. Steele had believed in her--maybe it was time she believed in herself.  

Seeing Oliver there, outside of her office, was unusual enough.  Mr. Diggle accompanying him was also out of the norm.  But the biggest red flag was how Oliver looked.  In a word, he looked awful.  Well, he was still gorgeous, but his skin looked clammy and pale, and his eyes wandered instead of holding her gaze with their usual intensity.  This looked like more than a hangover--for a moment, she thought he must be high.  Which . . . which just didn’t fit.  Oliver didn’t seem like the kind of guy to do drugs.  Maybe back in his frat boy days, yeah, but now?  No way.

_ I’m very particular about what I put in my body. _

_ I’ve noticed.  I said not noticed, right? _

Felicity winced again as she walked off the elevator and into Applied Sciences.  She still couldn’t believe she had said that.  It looked like she hadn't fully conquered the tendency to say whatever she thought before she realized how it would sound.

The point was, Oliver showed up looking like death warmed over and then gave her a syringe filled with an ‘energy drink’.  Which Felicity didn't buy for a nanosecond.  She followed the news, she could guess what was in the syringe in her hand.

Oliver's little sister had just been busted for underage drug use after a car accident.  Oliver would do anything for his sister, according to everything she had read and observed.  And according to the records Felicity had examined, thanks to the SCPD’s appalling firewall, she knew that Thea Queen had been high on Vertigo when she crashed her birthday present. 

So Oliver had somehow gotten himself some Vertigo and wanted to know where he could find the person making it.  For his little sister's sake, so he could protect other people's little sisters like he hadn't been able to do for his own.

Why didn't he just tell her that?  Felicity might not have any siblings, but she envied people who had that kind of tie in their lives.  If Oliver had come to her and told her the truth, of course she would have helped him.

And when those words sunk in, Felicity stopped mid-step.

Of course she would have helped him.  Because . . . something about Oliver made her believe in him.  Made her trust him.  Even though he lied to her, even though he was keeping secrets, even though he had started this Internet researcher with benefits thing with her.  She trusted him, and she couldn't explain why, but she did.

Well, she had part of an explanation.  But it was something she was trying not to think about, but if she was right and there was a connection between Oliver and the Hood . . . things that didn't make sense would make sense.

“Excuse me.”

“Oh!  Oh, sorry,” Felicity said, jolted out of her thoughts.  She stepped aside so the lab-coated person whose way she had been blocking could get around Felicity.

She had to get this sample to Chris, who still owed her that favor from when she had gotten him tickets to a sold-out Rockets game.  He would be able to analyze the contents of the syringe and figure out where it was produced.

And after that was done . . . Felicity was going to test the waters with Oliver.  For weeks, she had been studying the notebook Mr. Steele had given her.  Researching the list of names, discovering all the skeletons in the closets of the rich and powerful individuals listed within the notebook’s pages.

Some of those individuals had been visited by the Hood.  It could be a coincidence.  But maybe it wasn't.  And right now, Felicity really wanted to know how Oliver would react if she showed him that notebook.

Because if he did react . . . that thing she wasn't thinking about couldn't stay buried in her mind.  She would have to confront it.  And Felicity was tired of not thinking about it.

She would call Oliver tonight.  A separate phone call from the one she would make to tell him the results of the spectroanalysis, to make it clear this was different from all the other times they had met.  Not just because she was the one calling him.  They should have the meeting someplace other than Queen Consolidated.  Someplace neutral.  Someplace she wouldn't lose her nerve, someplace where it was impossible for them to have sex.

Big Belly.  That would work.  Yes, she could do this.  She wasn't going to ask if Oliver was the vigilante, or even hint that she suspected.  But . . . but she thought it was time Oliver found out that she was willing to help him.  That he didn't need to tell her ridiculous lies.  That even though it might be dangerous and definitely was crazy, she would help him, no questions asked.

It was a matter of trust.  She had it in Oliver, and she wanted him to know that.  Wanted to see what he would do with that gift.  Would he recognize it for what it was, or pretend like it wasn't important?

Oliver's reactions were going to be key to what happened next.

XXX

The rain against the windows made the world outside Big Belly Burger look smudged and indistinct.  Like all that existed was this little restaurant in the middle of the “worst” part of Starling City.

Oliver wasn't sure why Felicity had wanted to meet him here.  Actually, he didn't know why Felicity had set this up in the first place.  There were too many possibilities.  It was easier to focus on why Felicity had wanted to see him here at Big Belly.  He had suggested his house, when Felicity had asked him to meet with her, but she had immediately countered with Big Belly.

Was she scared to be alone with him?  Was she breaking off what they had, both her unwitting assistance to the Hood and the sexual relationship between herself and Oliver Queen?  Did she think if they met at his house, he would try to persuade her--or pressure her?

No, she must know that wasn't the case.  Right?    

The sight of Felicity walking past the windows made him sit up in his chair . . . and give her a strange little wave.  Like a little boy seeing the older girl he had a crush on.  Oliver shook his head ruefully, turning to watch Felicity walk in.  

She definitely looked nervous.  Her smile was tight and slightly forced, and something about the way her hands were fidgeting, stiff and tense instead of easy and loose, made him brace for what was to come, even as he greeted her with a smile.  

Which didn’t seem to help much, when she said she had something to share, something she had been debating telling him for weeks.  

“Can I trust you?”  

The words were so simple.  But the emotion behind them was anything but simple.  He felt shocked--utterly amazed that she could even consider trusting him.  Because . . . he wasn’t trustworthy.  He lied to her, all the time.  He had started a sexual relationship with her because he wanted to keep her off-balance.  He had drawn her into being an unwitting accomplice to his work as the Hood.  

How could she even think about trusting him enough to ask the question?  

His confusion and surprise must have registered, but Felicity didn’t seem to understand.  “I’m not stupid,” she said, pinning him under her gaze.  “You’ve dropped some fairly ridiculous lies on me, yet . . . I still feel like I can trust you.”  She paused and looked at him, sheepish and uncertain.  “Why is that?”  

Of all the people she could have asked that question, he was probably the last one to know.  Because she shouldn’t trust him.  Just because he trusted her--

Oliver swallowed.  Perhaps that was why.  He trusted Felicity.  He had from the minute she had turned around and taken that red pen out of her mouth.  Or maybe it went even further back, to their first meeting.  When she slipped out of his bed while he was asleep, without trying to do anything to cash in on spending the night with Oliver Queen.  She was honorable.  Steadfast.  Trustworthy.  

If you gave someone your trust, did that make it easier for them to trust you?  He didn’t know.  His experiences with trust in the last few years had always blown up in his face.  Gotten people hurt.  Even killed.  This might be his last chance to keep Felicity at arm’s length.  

“I just have one of those faces,” he said casually.  Trying to make it sound like a joke.

But the way her face fell--the disappointment clear in her eyes--made him want to fix this.  Quickly.  Because he didn’t like the idea that he had let her down, in any way.  

“Sorry,” he said, hoping it came through how much he meant it.  “Yes, you can trust me.”  

She nodded, still looking a bit hesitant.  And then, she opened her bag and drew out . . . the notebook.  A pristine version of the notebook he had found on his father’s body five years ago.  Smooth brown cover, creamy white pages, dark ink . . . it hadn’t been exposed to five years of sun and rain and ocean, didn’t have a few jagged pages torn from it.  But otherwise, it was identical to his notebook.  

For a moment, he almost felt like he had while he was coming down from Vertigo.  Disoriented, confused.  Because . . . how had she gotten this?  Had he made another mistake, trusted the wrong person again?  

His tongue was thick in his mouth as he asked, “Where did you get this?”

“From your stepfather,” Felicity replied, her voice soft and gentle.  

That was what stuck with him while Felicity spoke.  As she explained how this notebook was the reason Walter disappeared, that his mother knew about this notebook--must be part of the evil that made his father kill himself and give Oliver his mission--he couldn’t help noticing how kind she was being.  

He hadn’t been wrong about Felicity.  Oliver felt such a swell of relief, a relief that felt so horribly out of place given the fact his mother was still working on the plot his father had turned his back on.  But . . . but Felicity wasn’t involved in that.  It was only thanks to Walter’s request that she had gotten involved.  Because Walter could see Felicity’s intelligence and goodness shining through.  Just like Oliver did.  

“Why . . . why are you giving me this?” he finally asked, raising his eyes to meet hers.  

Felicity adjusted her glasses.  “This will probably sound crazy.  Crazier than me asking if I can trust you, even.”

It wasn't like Felicity to hedge or prevaricate like this.  Yes, she babbled and went off on tangents, but that usually was because her mouth moved even faster than her brain.  But for Felicity to hesitate like this . . . it made Oliver feel even more nervous and ill-at-ease.

Her eyes fluttered and she took a deep breath.  “Okay.  I know we don't really talk about . . . before.  How we met.  I think that in some ways, we both want to leave those people behind.  But--but there were good qualities in those younger versions of ourselves, you know?”

What was she saying?  Oliver could understand how Felicity might want to be more like her old self.  To go back to the days before she had been hurt.

Oliver wished he wanted that for himself.  But he didn't.  As much pain and heartbreak that he had suffered in the last five years, he didn't want to be Ollie again.

Before he could tell her that, Felicity pressed on.  “See, the Oliver I met five years ago?  I could see potential in him.  Possibilities that he didn't realize existed, things that he hadn't figured out yet.”

“You--”  His mouth was so dry.  Oliver swallowed and managed to speak, managed to express his shock at her words.  “You were the only one.”

“I doubt that,” she said quietly, her eyes meeting his briefly before flicking away, focusing more on his forehead.  She took another breath.  “Back then, I thought you were more than you appeared.  And meeting you again, spending time with you . . .”

Her face flushed with color with her euphemism and Oliver felt his own face grow warm.  Thankfully, Felicity didn't let the awkwardness stop her.  “You've tapped into that potential, I think.  You're not the same frat boy I met in Boston--you’re so much better than that Oliver now and I . . . well, I'm glad, because I don't think I would have been able to trust the guy you used to be.  Not like how I trust you now, so I wanted you to know that.  Even with the things you're keeping to yourself.”

It wasn't often you had a life-changing epiphany.  Let alone two.  Oliver had already felt shaken up by Felicity giving him the clean copy of the notebook.  His mother's copy.  His mother, who seemed to have had something to do with the Gambit going down, with his five years in hell . . . with his father's death.  Yes, Robert Queen might have killed himself.  But he apparently had been put in that position by his wife.

But then Felicity revealed why she was giving him the notebook.  Because she saw the possibility of good inside him, even with what little she knew about him.  She had seen potential in him five years ago, when he was a selfish, spoiled waste.  And she thought the man he was now was fulfilling that potential.  

Potential to be what, Oliver wasn't sure.  But it had to be good, right?  Living up to your potential was something positive.  It meant . . . she trusted him, because she thought he was a good man.

There was still a lot he didn't know about Felicity Smoak.  But he did know she had something that made him trust anything she said.  He believed that what she said was the truth.

So if she thought he was good . . . he had to think she was right.

“Um, Oliver?”

He couldn't help startling.  “What?”

Felicity shrugged her shoulders sheepishly.  “Nothing, you've just been sitting there, and I . . .”

“Oh.  Oh, I . . . I'm sorry,” he said, shifting in his chair.  

“It’s a lot to take in?” she asked, a small smile appearing on her face.

He huffed out a laugh.  “Yeah.”

Her smile widened, making his eyes drop to her pink-painted lips.  She lightly touched his forearm, her fingers warning him through the layers of his clothes.  “You're going to be okay?”  Her voice was serious, comforting.

Nodding automatically, Oliver didn't miss how Felicity didn't seem reassured.  Her teeth sank into her lower lip.  “You're sure?  I mean, if you didn't have plans, and you were hungry . . . but of course you have plans.  Things to do, people to see,” she said, not giving him a chance to answer.

Before she could get too carried away, Oliver covered her hand on his arm.  “I wish I could stay, but I do have something to take care of.”

It was the truth: he needed to find Digg and discuss this twist with him, needed to re-evaluate his interactions with his mother since his return, check up on Thea . . . but how he wished he could stay here and have a burger with Felicity.

She nodded.  “Yeah, of course.  So, I'll just let you . . .”. She hesitated, then tugged her hand out from under his, her arm falling to her side before fidgeting with the strap of her bag.

Slowly, Oliver rose to his feet, his eyes not leaning Felicity's face.  “I don't know what to say.”

“Yeah,” Felicity replied, giving him what she must think was a cheerful smile, but it just looked nervous.  “I usually can think of too many things to say, which I guess is just as bad.”

Gazing at her, Oliver lingered, not ready for this moment to end.  Wanting to thank her for showing him the truth, for trusting him when she had a thousand reasons to do the opposite.  But he felt too much right now, emotions he couldn't hope to come close to expressing in words.  Not without revealing more than he should.  Words that would upend this strange delicate something that existed between them.

Words meant something.  Not like actions which could be discounted or ignored.  That was the thought flickering through his mind, just before he leaned down, bringing his mouth only a breath away from hers.

There was a split-second of Felicity looking into his eyes.  This close, her glasses magnified the impact of her gaze, making his heart flutter in his chest in a way he wasn't familiar with.  And then she closed the distance between them, her lips touching his.  

Her lips were soft.  That was the first thing he thought.  The first thing he noticed.  In his memories, their kisses had been hot, hungry, all clashing teeth and probing tongues.  But this . . . this wasn’t like that.  It was gentle, a slow moving of lips against lips.  His hand lifted to cup the back of her head, the edge of her glasses lightly pressing into his cheek.  

It was sweet and intimate and soul-shattering.  It didn’t matter that they were in the middle of Big Belly Burger, that he was practically bending in half in order to reach her due to the height difference between them, that this would make their strange, unorthodox relationship more complicated than it already was.

None of that mattered, not in the face of this utterly perfect kiss.  

Oliver wished it could go on forever.  That they could just keep kissing and stay in this moment until the end of time.  But oxygen prevented that.  They slowly drew apart, their eyes meeting.  

But not before his eyes flicked down to her mouth to see that her lipstick was still perfect.  

“Wow,” Felicity whispered, almost silently.  She took a step back, one hand drifting to her lips before she jerked it quickly to her glasses and adjusted them.  

He needed to leave.  Before he did something rash and stupid, before he did something Ollie would have done.  

“Are you safe to get home?” he asked, his voice sounding deeper than normal.

Felicity gave her head a little shake.  “What?  Um . . . yes.  Yes, I have my car.”  

“Good.  I should get going, if you’re okay . . .?”

Of course she was all right--she had just told him she had her car, and it wasn’t so late that the walk to her car would put her into real danger.  If it would have, Oliver wouldn’t have agreed to meet her here.  But something inside him wanted her to ask him to stay.  

Which she wasn't going to do, he knew.  But he still hoped.

She gave him a weak smile and nodded.  “I'm fine.”  She paused, then reached out and touched his forearm.  “Good night, Oliver.”

All he could manage was a nod as he swallowed, trying to find his voice.  “Good night, Felicity.”

Taking that first step back from her was harder than he expected.  The second one wasn't much easier.  But using all his determination, he made himself turn and walk away from Felicity.  He was too emotional, too shaken from everything he had learned tonight.  He needed space so he could process this.

But there was a part of his mind that kept wondering if he could process this better by forgetting about his mother, walking back to Felicity, and kissing her again.

XXX XXX

Her flats were nearly silent as she walked through the parking garage.  But even if Felicity was wearing heels, there wouldn't be much noise.  She was too tired to walk quickly and make the tap-tap-tap of her heels ring out through the concrete structure.

It was nearly eight-thirty, which meant she had put in almost twelve hours at work today.  And not for the first time this week.  Even with her new responsibilities and running tests on the firewall and making connections with Applied Sciences, she was spending more time at work than she needed.

But work let her stay focused.  Kept her mind from wandering to things better left uncontemplated.

Like how Oliver had asked her for a bunch of strange favors that seemed to connect to the vigilante’s work.  Like how it had been over six weeks since Walter’s disappearance (considering how much she knew about his family at this point, it seemed silly to call him Mr. Steele, at least in her head).  Like how Oliver had kissed her last week.

That kiss . . . if she closed her eyes, she could feel the pressure of Oliver's lips against her own.  As if she had phantom limb pain, only her limb was a six foot tall mystery.

Although he was only a mystery because she wasn't letting herself face facts.  If she did that, she would know who Oliver was.  More than she already knew him, at least.  Because even though she didn't know what his favorite color was or his favorite food or what song always cheered him up, Felicity felt like she knew who Oliver was.  Knew that despite appearances, Oliver was a good man.  Capable of making a difference in this city.

It was a sign of how tired she was that her mind had drifted so close to the edge of admitting she knew who Oliver was.  But she was also too tired to deal with this now.  All she wanted was to drive home, eat her leftover Hunan beef, watch some Netflix and go to bed.  Nice, simple, easy and predictable.  That was what she wanted.

Opening the door of her car, Felicity slid behind the wheel.  She pulled the door shut and locked it before she set her bag on the seat beside her.

And then there was a rustle.  A rustle coming from the back seat.

With a gasp, she turned in her seat, gripping her keys.  Should she get out of the car and run?

But would she be able to run from the vigilante?  Because that was who was in her back seat!

Before she could pick one of the questions crowding her brain--like asking how he had gotten into her car and what he wanted from her and just how did he stay comfortable in leather pants--the vigilante spoke.  “I'm not going to hurt you, Felicity.”  His voice was strained, sounding like he was speaking through gritted teeth.

“H-how do you know my name?” she asked, proud that her voice only wavered slightly.

There was a beat, then the vigilante lifted a leather-gloved hand and pulled down his hood, revealing dark blond hair and blue eyes that she knew very well, even with greasepaint smeared around them.

“Because you know mine,” Oliver Queen told her.

“Oliver . . .” Felicity breathed out, feeling a rush of emotions.  Relief it was someone she knew, exultation over being right in suspecting that Oliver was the vigilante, confusion because holy shit,  _ Oliver  _ was the vigilante!

“Suddenly everything about you became very clear,” she said, only half-truthfully.

He gave her a look, one that silently asked if they were going to talk about this now, and Felicity realized something must be very wrong.

“You're bleeding,” she said, seeing the small hole in his shoulder, surrounded by glossy smears on the leather.  Even as she watched, she could see the blood seeping out of him, past the fingers of the hand he had just lifted to his injury.

“You don't need to tell me that,” Oliver said, something that under different circumstances, she would take as an indication of dry humor.  Circumstances that weren't her boss's boss's boss/kind-of friend with benefits bleeding out all over her car.

Her mind worked on autopilot, turning to start her car, babbling about getting Oliver to the hospital.  But . . . he didn't want to go to the hospital?  But an old steel mill?

Afterwards, she wanted to smack herself on the forehead.  Of course be wouldn't want to go to the hospital.  Of course he wouldn't trust anyone but his partner, who turned out to be Mr. Diggle--surprise, surprise.

But in the moment, she was just too scared to think logically and rationally.  Because Oliver was bleeding, he was hurt, and he had come to her for help.  He was depending on her, and she was  _ so  _ not cut out for this ‘saving people’ business!  

Somehow, though, she got herself together enough to drive.  Trying to balance going fast with not jostling Oliver too much, because every time she slammed on the brakes or took a corner too fast, he let out a soft grunt or moan.  And each one felt like an arrow to the heart.

An arrow to the heart.  Ironic.  And  _ focus _ , Felicity!

Gripping the wheel tightly, Felicity drove deep into the Glades.  She pressed her lips together tightly, trying to hold back the nervous babble.  But doing that made her think about kissing Oliver.  Would she be the last person he kissed?  Would he regret that Felicity Smoak was the last person he kissed and wished he had kissed someone else?  Like Laurel Lance?  Or, if not the attractive brunette which was his normal type according to the gossip columns she absolutely  _ did  _ not read, had he kissed his mother or sister recently?

Speaking of irony, she had been doing everything she could to not think about the kiss, and now, in the midst of this life-or-death situation, all she could think about was kissing Oliver.  

Her mind was so odd.  

Finally, she reached the old Queen factory.  She parked her car as close as she could to the side door Oliver had told her about, and she tried to tug him out of the back seat, she really did.  But he had passed out, which scared her even more.  So she went running into the factory, looking for Mr. Diggle.  And when she found him, she didn’t even notice the gun he pulled on her.  Because all she could say was, “Can you help me?  He’s . . . really heavy.”

And because all she was thinking was  _ Can you help me?  He’s . . . dying _ .

XXX

Through his closed eyelids, Oliver could sense being surrounded by warm, golden light.  There were cool sheets underneath his body, soft against his chest and belly and legs.  But they couldn’t compare to the silky skin of the woman nestled in against his side.  

Turning his head and keeping his eyes closed, Oliver nuzzled the woman’s hair, which smelled of flowers and citrus.  He let out a soft sigh, ready to sink deeper into sleep.  

But then she was sliding away from him and Oliver opened his eyes and shifted on the bed, propping himself up on one arm.  “No . . .” he breathed out, reaching his hand out for her.

“I need coffee,” the woman said, the smile on her face coming through in her voice.  “I’ll be right back, Oliver.”  

He gazed at her, his mind feeling so sleepy and relaxed that he just gazed at her.  Took in her pale, perfect skin.  Wavy blonde hair the color of sunshine.  Blue eyes that sparkled with knowledge, that could see into his very soul.  

And slowly, as happened in dreams, he slowly put together what all these details meant.  

He was in bed with Felicity.  No, not just in bed--waking up in bed with her, which had never happened for them before.  

Oliver’s eyes opened.  There was no golden light or soft sheets or warm body.  He was lying on a cold metal table, green-tinged fluorescent lights shining down on him.  

At least he wasn’t alone.    

He was expecting to see Digg, looking relieved to see Oliver awake.  But Felicity . . . she was still here.  It made his voice be even more raspy when he spoke.  And the smile on her face made his heart flutter again in his chest.  Which normally he would write off to nearly dying, but it felt the same as it had that night in Big Belly last week.  When he had kissed Felicity.

The aftermath of being shot was never fun, and this time was no different.  In fact, it was worse, because Digg hadn’t hesitated to shoot him up with antibiotics due to getting a bullet dug out of him in non-sterile conditions.  And Oliver was pretty sure Digg had slipped a painkiller in there, too, because he could already feel a slight fuzziness around the edges of his mind.  

Or maybe it was just having Felicity still there.  She had stayed the entire night.  Hacked into the crime lab computers and destroyed the blood sample taken at the scene of his shooting.  Even rearranged the computers, saying something about the 1980s and legwarmers he didn’t really follow.  

But all of that . . . it meant something, right?  Like she wanted to be part of the team?

And because of how he was feeling, what had happened tonight, he didn’t hesitate to ask her that.  And her answer surprised him.

“No.”  

“Then why’d you upgrade my system?” he asked, confused and not above challenging her a little.  Pushing her to be honest with him, now that she knew the truth about him.  Well, the truth about how he spent his nights.

Yet again, she surprised him.  “I want to find Walter.”  

That answer floored him.  His stepfather?  She wanted to do all this to find his stepfather?  All because he had been nice to her?  

It made Oliver feel a world of feelings.  Embarrassment he hadn’t done more recently to look for Walter.  Shame at being exposed to Felicity’s innate kindness and goodness, those qualities throwing his own failings into even harsher light.  Respect for Felicity who wanted to help someone who had helped her.  

And intense curiosity, at getting another piece to the puzzle that was Felicity Smoak.  That someone being nice to her would inspire such loyalty, to the extent she was willing to throw in with him . . . 

He would be a fool to not welcome her.  To not accept her one condition, that she would only work with him until they found Walter.  And Oliver was working on not being an idiot, so he held his hand out to her as he thanked her.   

Felicity probably thought he was only thanking her for joining the team, but really, he was thanking her for so much more.  For saving his life.  For keeping his secret.  For being her.  

As she walked away, in search of the bathroom, Oliver turned to Digg.  Knowing his partner probably had reservations about this.  Reservations that Oliver himself had considered: needing to protect Felicity and keep her safe in this darker world she had just stepped into, albeit conditionally.

But then Diggle raised an objection Oliver hadn’t anticipated at all.

“That’s all well and good, Oliver,” Digg said, brushing aside Oliver’s attempts at explaining his mother’s behavior.  “But I still don’t like getting Felicity involved.  Because working with someone you’re sleeping with . . . it’s bound to get messy.”

Oliver took a step back, his mouth falling open.  “What . . . how . . . ?”  

Clearly, he wasn’t doing enough to not be an idiot after all.  Because the look Digg gave him made it clear Oliver was asking stupid questions.

“You’ve been going to her for help for months now--and sleeping with her for nearly that long, I suspect.”  Digg held up a hand.  “I’m not here to be a relationship counselor.  I don’t want any details.  But you might want to consider if sleeping with Felicity is the best idea, now that she knows who you really are.”    

Swallowing, Oliver nodded, not having the words to reply.  Because Digg was right.  And Oliver didn’t like admitting that.  Why hadn’t it occurred to him that bringing Felicity onto the team changed things?  Now he wouldn’t have to go to her office with a ridiculous cover story; she would be coming to the lair every evening, just like Digg.  

Which meant . . . they wouldn’t be having sex in her office anymore.  There was no need to have sex at all, since he wasn’t trying to keep her from guessing his secret.  She knew all his secrets.  

Well--maybe not all of them, Oliver thought to himself as he saw Felicity step down the stairs.  She looked nervous, like she had walking into Big Belly.  

“Oliver?  Can I speak with you for a minute?  Um, in private?”

XXX

As relaxing as it was to finally use a bathroom, it didn’t do more than relieve the physical anxiety she had been feeling for the last few hours.  The mental and emotional anxiety had been growing ever since she realized Oliver was shot and bleeding in her car, and it had only gotten worse when he had finally woken up.

Because . . . now she knew.  After weeks of deliberately not thinking about it, now she could only think about what she had learned tonight.  Oliver was the vigilante.  He had been attacking one percenters, people from his own class, accusing them of failing Starling City.  

Not just attacking and accusing, either.  He had killed people.  Had shot arrows into them, using the very bow she picked up earlier that night.  Just pulling back on the bowstring had been hard--was it harder to pull it back, with an arrow in place, knowing you were going to send that arrow into another person and take their life?

Taking to Mr. Diggle, who told her to call him Digg, had helped a little.  Given her a different perspective.  The idea that Oliver was a soldier, that he was fighting a war . . . it made sense, she supposed.  But it wasn't like he was an actual soldier, or a police officer, or anyone official like that.  Although in Starling City, the official peacekeepers weren’t doing much to stop the income inequality, to fight the gulf between the few haves and the many have-nots.

That was what the Hood was trying to do, and Felicity could understand that, even if she wasn't entirely sure she agreed with it.  But what was bothering her more was why and how Oliver was the Hood.  How had this happened?  Had this urge always been inside him, even when they first met?  Or was it the result of what happened to him on that island?  And why did Oliver choose to help people, to save the city, like this?  With his family name and wealth, he could have changed Starling City in the light of day.  With a lot fewer arrows.  Why did he choose to operate in the shadows and let everyone think he was still some spoiled playboy?

Felicity didn't understand that.  And she wanted to understand.  Which meant . . . she had to talk to Oliver.  Had to figure out if she needed to put some conditions on working as part of the team, beyond her stated timeline.

Saying she was only in this to save Walter gave her time to assess what was going on.  To see if she was cut out for this whole ‘being a hero’ business.  Because she wasn't so sure she was, Digg’s words about her notwithstanding.

She had tried to be a hero before and she had failed.  Not just failed--she had let someone she loved fall into darkness.  And the guilt and responsibility and grief . . . they had nearly crushed her spirit.  Made her shrink back from challenges, made her want to be invisible and unnoticed.

Yet Oliver always seemed to notice her.  From the moment he had stepped into her office, he had been watching her, observing everything about her.  Almost like he was seeing if she might fit onto the team.

No, that was crazy.  Felicity shook her head as she moved back to the stairs.  She couldn't think about that right now.  She needed to talk with Oliver about how they were going to move forward, given their . . . well, relationship, for lack of a better word.

With a deep breath, she stepped back into the dimly-lit basement.  The rumble of voices grew louder as she approached Oliver and Digg and she cleared her throat.

Oliver meet her eyes as she approached, making her swallow.  “Oliver?  Can I speak with you for a minute?  Um, in private?”  Her voice wobbled a little and she took a breath.  There was nothing to be nervous about.  Oliver had accepted her temporary membership in the team, without even asking her if she would keep his secret after she left.  Like he trusted her as she trusted him.

Keeping her eyes on Oliver, she still noticed Digg’s approving expression out of the corner of her eye, which made her wonder what Digg and Oliver had been talking about.

“Of course,” Oliver said, with a polite smoothness.  Moving slowly, he escorted her to the far end of the lair, standing by some kind of strange dummy with multiple arms.  

And then he just stood there, waiting for her to speak.

Taking another breath, Felicity pushed up her glasses.  “I thought--I thought we should talk about . . . us.  Not that there's an us per se, but we have had a certain kind of relationship, one that is kind of unusual, I admit, and now that we're going to be working together--”

“Felicity,” Oliver said, lightly resting his hand on her shoulder.

“No sex,” she blurted out, hoping her voice hadn't carried towards Digg.  “With how much time we’re going to be together, with what's on the line, I think the whole benefits aspect of this thing should stop.”

Because she had been looking right at Oliver, she could see how for the barest moment, his face fell and his eyes went sad.  But so quickly, fast enough that she wondered if she had only imagined the unhappiness on his face, Oliver’s face smoothed out.  “I understand.”  

“Yeah?” she asked.  “You do?”

“I do,” Oliver said.  He pulled the blanket around himself a bit tighter.  “What I do here--what we do here--it's important.  Important enough that if anything could interfere with that, we can't let it.”  He gave her a long look.  “And the last thing I want to do is make you feel uncomfortable.  You've already been a big help, Felicity.  Now that you're here . . . we can find Walter all the faster.  And then you can move on, get back to the life you want to have.”

There was no judgement in his tone.  No sense he was going to pursue or pressure her in any way, whether for sex or to stay on the team.  It was up to her.

So why did she suddenly wish he would try to persuade her to make a different choice?

“Right,” Felicity replied, her mind spinning so fast, she could only think of clichés and pleasantries.  “Great.  Glad we got that figured out.  And . . . I should be going.  It's late, and I've got work in the morning.”

Oliver, to her surprise, let out a soft chuckle.  “If you wanted to call out sick tomorrow, I'd smooth it over for you.”

“Oh, no--I mean, how would you explain that?” Felicity said, inching back from him.  “Since there’s no reason for you to know me, really.  No, I'm just gonna go home and get some sleep, and I'll be back tomorrow night, with bells on.  Which I could do, since I'm not the one going out and sneaking up on people to tell them that they have failed this city.”

_ What the hell, Smoak? _

“And now I'm really going!” Felicity finished, feeling her cheeks flush.  “Good night, Oliver.”

She heard him return the goodbye as she grabbed her coat and purse, as she hurried past Digg and told him good night, too.  But the whole time, her mind was too busy thinking.

Why hadn't Oliver tried to change her mind?  Why had she wanted him to try?  And what did she want him to ask her to do: stay on the team or keep sleeping with him?

This was the last thing she should be doing, she told herself as she drove home.  Instead of going round and round on all these questions, she should be focusing on relaxing, on clearing her mind so she could go right to bed as soon as she reached her townhouse.  After all, she was exhausted.  All the extra hours at work, the stress and worry over Oliver, staying up until past two in the morning . . . she should be barely awake, her mind sluggish and craving rest.  

But instead, all she could do was think.  Contemplate, ruminate, ponder, consider, surmise . . . and now she sounded like she had swallowed a thesaurus.  But  _ what  _ was going on?

From the start, she had known there was something going on with Oliver.  A rich playboy wouldn’t need to know what was on a shot-up laptop, wouldn’t put in so much effort to win a scavenger hunt, wouldn’t be that concerned about the chemical makeup of an energy drink.  But for some reason, she had trusted him.  Allowed herself to help him, without considering what her help was allowing him to do.  

Apparently, she was helping a vigilante fight crime.  Because now that she knew knew Oliver was the vigilante, she could put together the research she had done, with the names in that notebook of Oliver’s, along with a few pieces of info from Digg, and she could see the big picture.  

She, Felicity Smoak, had helped take down Count Vertigo.  Had helped stop that rash of armored car robberies.  And maybe more?  She would have to do more research, but just those two wins for the Hood were partially due to her assistance.  

And it felt really good.  Really, really,  _ really  _ good.  Like how she imagined a superhero felt.  

Gripping the steering wheel, Felicity nosed her car into a parking space outside of her building.  There was a passing thought about how she would normally be more nervous about getting home this late, but she brushed it aside in favor of hurrying into her townhouse and getting her mind on track.  

After what had happened to her at MIT, with her algorithm and the hacktivism and Cooper, Felicity had resolved she had been misguided, naïve, stupid.  She had been impulsive and Cooper had paid the price.  Being a hero was something for movies, not for real life, she had thought.  

Until now.  Until she met Oliver.  There seemed to be little that was impulsive about him or what he was doing.  No, he was focused, determined, practical.  Not afraid to get help when he needed it--or why else would he have come to her for help?  Why else would he have enlisted Mr. Diggle to help him?  She didn’t know Digg well, but there was such a sense of morality about him.  If he believed in Oliver’s cause, that had to mean something, right?  

Distractedly, Felicity stepped into her place, locking the door behind her as she worked through her thoughts.  Moving on autopilot, she kicked off her shoes and went to her bedroom, not bothering with turning on a light.  She just wanted to get into her pajamas and get into bed.  Not that she would be sleeping any time soon, contrary to what would be the wisest course.  

No, she wouldn’t be able to get any sleep until she figured this out.  

Oliver was most definitely a hero.  And he wanted her help, had come to her for favors both big and small.  And that was . . . scary.  Even with how good it felt, to know that she was making a difference, what if things went wrong?  After all, she had finally faced the fact that Oliver was the Hood after he showed up in her car, shot and bleeding!

What if something went wrong?  What if it was her fault?  Was that why she had said she was only interested in finding Walter--she thought she could get out before she was in too deep?  

Talk about locking the barn door after the horse had been stolen.

Dressed in her favorite pajamas and with a pair of fluffy socks on her feet, Felicity climbed into bed, pulling the covers over herself.  She set her glasses on the bedside table and gazed up at the ceiling.

He had tried to hide it, but Oliver  _ had  _ looked upset when she said they couldn’t keep having sex.  His face had been full of regret and longing for a split-second before he had shut it down.  Was it because he was a hero and thought that the mission came first?  He had told her that, so she should believe him.  

But she couldn’t help wondering if there was more.  Maybe . . . maybe he felt something for her.  Something like what she felt for him.  Something that made his stomach swoop when he saw her, something that made him keep thinking about that kiss in Big Belly, something that made seeing her the best part of his day.  

It was crazy to think like this.  Crazy to want Oliver to do more than he already had.  Crazy to want to be a bigger part of Oliver’s life than just IT support to the Hood.  She had done the smart thing, by putting limits on this.  She would only work with Oliver and Digg until they had found Walter, and she would not sleep with Oliver while she was part of the team.  

Wanting Oliver to persuade her to change her mind was clearly a product of her exhaustion.  A result of all the upheaval tonight had created in her simple, boring little life.  For months now, Oliver had been dipping his toe into the lake of her world, and then tonight, he had cannonballed his way in.  No wonder she was feeling tempest-tossed.  But with some sleep, and some time, she would right her ship and set a new course.  

She could be part of something heroic without it backfiring.  She could work with Oliver without sex complicating matters.  This would be good for her, and in a few weeks when it was all over, she would be a better person for it.  She would be ready for whatever opportunities came her way: to work in Applied Sciences, to find a nice guy to date, to wear her hair differently.  Whether big or small, she would be ready to make real changes in her life.  

And someday, she would look back and remember, with an amused smile, the months in her early twenties when she slept with the wrong guy and worked two jobs to make the world better.  It would be no different than if she had joined the Peace Corps, only without all those needles.  

Someday, this would all be over and she would be left with nothing but memories and lessons learned.  Felicity just hoped she wouldn’t be left with consequences, too.

End, Chapter 4

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really excited for this chapter, since I’m getting to take one of my favorite epsiodes--and the fave of many Olicity fans--and tell it Core Curriculum style. That’s right, it’s time for Dodger. I hope y’all enjoy seeing how Felicity fits in with the team, and how Oliver reacts to having Felicity in on the secret, with the whole no-sex pact hanging over their heads. Happy reading!

 

Once, he was going to do this alone.  He thought no one could know his secret.  There had been no reason to believe anyone else saw the need to save Starling City.  But now, he had two partners.  Neither of them were people he had planned to have in his life.  Yet with both Digg and Felicity here, it was hard to think about those early days, when he had just returned from the island and thought he could do it all.  How had he thought he could do this alone?  That he was enough to truly save Starling City?  

But the three of them might be enough.  

That was what he had to keep telling himself, even as his anger burned like an ember inside him.  Because he didn’t understand why Felicity was leaping to conclusions like this.  He didn’t understand why she was putting up such a fight when she claimed she was only here to find Walter.  And he really didn’t understand why he was so angry with her.  

Which wasn’t true.  He did understand.  He just didn’t want to accept it.  Didn’t want to feel like he was slipping back into being Ollie, assuming he was owed sex from any woman he wanted it from.  Back in those days, not getting sex made him a pissy douchebag.  Out of all his old habits, he most definitely didn’t want to fall back into that one.  Even if things were different now, because it wasn’t any woman that he was thinking about sleeping with.  It was only one.  

As they walked towards Felicity’s office, Oliver knew Digg was eyeing him.  His bodyguard was just loving this, Oliver bet.  Loved seeing the big bad vigilante caving to the demands of the cute little blonde. 

When the silence between them, and Digg’s smirk, became too much to deal with, Oliver forced the issue.  “You got something to say?”

Amazingly, Digg’s smirk widened.  “Just amused.”

“Amused?” Oliver asked when Digg didn't elaborate.

“Yeah, amused.  Felicity's making the same argument I made, but you're going along with her a hell of a lot faster than you did with me.”  Digg paused.  “I guess I'm just not your type.”

“Digg,” he said, biting back his impatience.

Holding up a hand, Digg nodded.  “Okay, I know.  Different circumstances.  But how do you know we won't find Detective Lance waiting for us, because Felicity has spilled the dirt on you?”

The door to Felicity's office was open.  Oliver felt his heart flutter, but did his best to ignore it.  But when he stepped into the office to find it empty, his disappointment was palpable.  But he couldn't think about that now.

“She wouldn't do that,” Oliver replied, answering Digg.  “I checked her out, just like I checked out you.”

He could tell Digg was a bit skeptical of that.  “So, what if I had told anyone about you?” he asked.

With his back to Digg, it was easier to tell the harsh truth.  To remind him of the kind of man Oliver was.  Or that he used to be--he wasn’t certain.  “I would have put an arrow in you.”

Digg’s quiet snort of laughter made him turn around, to see his bodyguard grinning.  “No, you wouldn't.”

Oliver just lifted his eyebrows slightly and the humor faded from Digg’s face.  “You would--you really would have done that?”

The appearance of Felicity in the doorway saved Oliver from having to say anything.  Although this was pretty much the definition of out of the frying pan and into the fire.

“I had a bet going with myself about how quickly you would come here.  Asking if I had revealed your secret,” Felicity said, her chin up and defiance in her voice as she brushed past them and walked to sit behind her desk.  “Looks like I won.”

So, Felicity was someone to hold a grudge.  He made a mental note of that, right underneath her inability to be physically cowed by him.

“Felicity, I didn't put my best foot forward last night.  My adrenaline was up and I didn't listen,” Oliver said, not wanting to waste time.  “I hope you'll give me the chance to try again.”

She leaned back in her chair, her arms folded over her chest.  “And did Ken Williams get to enjoy your adrenaline?”

“No, he returned the money he stole in time to tuck his son into bed,” Oliver said, carefully watching her face.  Feeling a rush of relief when her defiance melted away, the coldness about her dissipating.

“Killing isn't my first move, Felicity,” Oliver said, keeping his eyes on her.  Behind him, he could hear Digg shifting slightly.  Because this felt more intimate than it should be, and Digg seemed to be feeling uncomfortable.  But Oliver was glad Digg was here, what with the memories of what had happened in this office.

But then, Oliver heard a familiar voice coming from one of the monitors on Felicity's desk.  Detective McKenna Hall, with whom he had crossed paths while looking into Vertigo, was talking about a new criminal on the scene in Starling City.

“I've heard about this guy,” Digg said, stepping forward.  “They call him the Dodger because he never gets his hands dirty.  Uses hostages to steal for him.”

Hmmmm.  A jewel thief that took hostages.  Watching Felicity's face, Oliver could see she wanted to take this guy down.  So did he.  Especially when Felicity baited him, sarcastically remarking it was a shame the Dodger wasn't in Oliver's notebook.

It was funny.  When Digg had pressured him to step back from the List, he hadn't wanted to--not until Digg forced his hand.  But now . . . things were different.  And Felicity's words from last night, about doing more for people than protecting their bank accounts, were stuck in his head.  Because what had she meant by that?

“You know, not everyone that I target is on the List,” Oliver said, focusing on the matter at hand.  “Sometimes I make an exception.  Hostage-taking jewel thief, for example.”

Oliver paused, looking down at her.  In these positions, her sitting and him standing, he should feel in control.  Like he had the power.  Yet that couldn't be farther from the truth.  Because right now, he felt like everything was on the line with the question he was about to ask.

“So why don't you help us take him down?”

For a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of hesitation in her eyes.  Like in spite of his attempt to smooth things over, she was still holding on to her grudge.

But then, she nodded.  “Okay.  But only if you buy me dinner.”

Dinner?  Oliver frowned, feeling confused.  “Dinner.”

Felicity's face flooded with color.  “Um, yes, dinner, the meal that comes after lunch and before dessert, unless we were in England when dinner would come after tea.  And by me I meant us, as in Digg and me.  I'm starving and clearly hunger would make me useless to the whole needing to figure out what's our next step . . .”

Oh.  Dinner.  For the team.  Not like dinner as in a date.

“How about Big Belly?” Digg suggested.  “Carly’s working tonight.”

“Perfect!” Felicity said, getting to her feet quickly and picking up her bag.  The same one she had been carrying that rainy night she had met him at the very same restaurant.

The night he had kissed her.

“Fine,” Oliver said, following Digg and Felicity out the door.

XXX

In the store, the skirt on this dress had seemed longer.  Giving it a quick tug, Felicity took in her appearance in the bathroom mirror.  The dress was flattering and really fancy.  It was the kind of thing her mother would wear . . . after complaining that the top wasn't low-cut enough.

Felicity loved her mother, but Donna Smoak had always thought the saying was boobs  _ and  _ legs, not boobs  _ or  _ legs.  So even though she had picked a dress that would have appealed to her mother, Felicity hadn't been able to go as far as her.

But this was enough, she thought.  And she did feel pretty confident--or at least she had until she had walked into the hotel ballroom and had seen the thousand-dollar cocktail dresses other women were wearing.

Or maybe it was the lack of reaction from Oliver when he saw her.

Giving her head a shake, Felicity took her lipstick out of her purse and applied another coat.  Thinking about her dress and wondering what Oliver thought about it was a way to deal with her nerves about this mission.  About being in the middle of Starling high society, trying to bait a jewel thief.  But while these thoughts let her direct her nerves so she wouldn't freak out about said jewel thief, they weren't exactly good for her peace of mind.

Because she was the one who had decided they couldn't continue as they were.

Now things were different.  Instead of answering Oliver's odd questions and being curious about his requests, she knew . . . well, not everything.  Because Oliver wasn't exactly big on sharing or collaboration.  He was so ready to carry the world on his shoulders, in a way Felicity hadn't realized before.  But he also needed help.  He  _ couldn't _ do it all alone, even if he wanted to.  The fact that he had reached out to her, that he had Digg, meant he knew that.  That he put his crusade first.  But it didn't come easily for him.

He was trying, though.  That meant she had to try, too, by doing her part of the mission.  Not hiding in the bathroom, feeling insecure about her dress or mooning over a man like some teenager with a crush.  Although the feelings and thoughts she was experiencing when it came to Oliver were so far from a crush.

Squaring her shoulders, Felicity looked at herself in the mirror.  She didn't look much like herself, or what she thought of as herself.  Contacts, smooth curls hanging around her face, a shimmering cocktail dress: this was not the same old Felicity Smoak.  Not the woman she used to be in college or the one she had been before Oliver stepped into her cubicle.  She was becoming something different, she thought vaguely as she checked her mascara.  Someone different.

And this woman was . . . interesting.  Someone Felicity would like to get to know.

Later.  After the mission.

Felicity picked up her purse and stepped out of the bathroom.  The communication device in her ear had been quiet, but the moment she returned to the ballroom, it crackled to life.  “Felicity?”

“I'm here,” she replied softly to Oliver.

“We're going to check out the lobby area.  No sign of the Dodger so far.”

Was it her imagination, or did his voice seem a little bit relieved that she was here?

“I'll watch the brooch,” Felicity told him.

“Copy,” Digg said, sounding just like the soldier he had been.  It made Felicity smile a little before she set herself to mingling.

Lifting a glass of champagne from a tray--to use as a prop, not to drink, since the last thing she needed right now was alcohol--Felicity began moving around the room, inspecting the art up for auction while keeping her eyes open for someone who could be the Dodger.  No one seemed to be paying much attention to the brooch donated by the Queen family.  Starling City really  _ did  _ go in for the Elizabethan Era more.

After twenty very boring minutes, Felicity took a small sip of her champagne.  She thought undercover work would be exciting!

No, she couldn't think like that.  She didn't want to make any mistakes.  It was a risk, having her be part of this mission, and she didn't want to be the reason they didn't catch the Dodger.  The reason he was able to hurt anyone else in Starling City.

Oliver was depending on her.  Oliver and Digg, she corrected herself.  Both of her team members, because they were a team.  A team that was keeping everything strictly platonic.

Putting down her glass, Felicity pulled her phone out of her purse and checked the tracking app.  It was designed to vibrate when there was any movement on the brooch, but so far there had been nothing.  But then, the moment her phone was in her hand, it buzzed.

Her eyes immediately went to the case, only fifteen feet away, where the Omnious Decade jewel was displayed.  A tall, dark man was standing in front of the case, his fingers lightly touching the brooch.

Without any thought, she stepped towards him.  As she came closer, she saw him lift up the ugly yet incredibly valuable piece and slip it into his jacket pocket.

“That brooch was donated by the Queen family,” Felicity said, surprised by how she was confronting this man.  But he couldn't be the Dodger.  Because he had other people steal for him.  Walking right into this auction and take something?  That didn't fit with his pattern at all.  The man, whoever he was, couldn't be the Dodger.  And this society boy klepto couldn't steal their bait.

“If you want it, you'll have to bid,” Felicity told him, leaving unsaid the warning she was trying to make.  That if he didn't put it back, she was going to get someone who could.

The man looked down at her, giving her an amused look.  “Oh, I don't think so, love.”

XXX

From across the table, Oliver watched Felicity.  Because he was worried about her, about how she was recovering from being the Dodger’s latest victim.  Latest but last, he thought grimly.  The jewel thief had been turned over to Interpol’s custody and soon would be fought over by several countries seeking extradition.

Yet tonight's success felt as dark and raw as the straight tequila in his glass.  Because he had never intended for Felicity to be in danger.  Not so soon, not like this.

Digg's warning about Felicity was ringing in his ears.  Digg's warning and his blasé dismissal.  He snorted into his glass.  He had done a great job of keeping her safe.

“Oliver.”

Felicity's voice yanked him out of his thoughts, but he didn't know whether to be grateful or annoyed.  But he wouldn't take his frustrations out on her--not again.  So he did his best to push aside his thoughts and focus on her.  On making sure she was okay.  “Yeah?”

“You are brooding,” Felicity said, pointing at him with the hand that was holding her second margarita.  “And that is not allowed right now.  We're celebrating our first successful mission!  Yay team.  Go us!”

Although he knew he shouldn't encourage her, Oliver felt his lips twitch.  

“Were you a cheerleader by any chance, Felicity?” Digg asked, sounding as amused as Oliver felt.

She let out a snort.  “Me, the biggest nerd ever?  Nope.”  Felicity took a swallow from her drink and set her glass down.  

“And I'm not going to be sidelined as your cheerleader.  You needed me tonight and I came through!”  Felicity stared at him, then frowned.  “I don't know how I did it, because let me tell you, nothing I've done prepared me for having a bomb collar around my neck.”

Not for the first time tonight, Oliver saw Felicity raise her hand to her slender throat and touch it.  There were no marks or blemishes on her skin to show where the collar had been, but just like he couldn't stop seeing it when he looked at her, Felicity seemed unable to stop feeling it.

“Hey,” Oliver said, leaving forward and gently drawing her hand away.  “You did great.  You stayed calm and helped me get the Dodger.  You're still on the team.”

Felicity gazed at him, her eyes big and blue and shimmering with tears.  “Yeah?” she asked, so much hope and surprise in her voice that there was no way he could crush it--not even with some suggestions for the future.  Such as not confronting the dangerous criminals on her own.

“Yeah,” he said, holding her eyes and telling himself that they could talk more later about how she approached the Dodger without him.  For tonight . . . well, he didn't know if it was about celebrating, but it was definitely about coming down from all the adrenaline.  In the only way they could that involved Digg, too.  Since Felicity had forbidden the way he would have rather comforted her.

“People are capable of amazing things,” Digg said, breaking the spell and reminding Oliver he wasn't alone with Felicity.  He sat back, noticing how Digg was watching them, and cursed himself silently.  Once again, Digg's powers of observation were going to lead to a difficult conversation later, he knew.

“Yeah?  That sounds like the start of a story, Digg,” Felicity said, leaning back in the low, overstuffed chair she was sitting in.  She tucked her legs underneath herself and smiled at Digg as she cradled her glass in her hands.

Digg smiled at her.  “I heard things in Afghanistan.  Local stories, the kind of fairy tales people have been telling around campfires for centuries.  Traveling across the desert with only enough water for a day, but your waterskin always being full when you lift it to your lips.”  He shrugged.  “There must be some grain of truth in there.”

“It reminds me of the Hanukkah story,” Felicity said with a smile.  She looked down at her glass, then glanced over at Oliver for a split-second.  Long enough for him to see the churning emotions in her eyes.  Like she was remembering that day in her office, on the fifth night of Hanukkah.

It made him think of all the strange things he had seen.  The amazing people he had met.  But none more amazing than the two he was sitting with right now.

So he couldn't do anything to jeopardize that.  To jeopardize their new team.  Digg clearly liked Felicity and thought highly of her.  If Oliver fucked things up with Felicity, because he couldn't control himself, he would lose both of them.

But he didn't know if he  _ could  _ control himself.  Before she had joined the team, he had carefully rationed the number of times he had interacted with her.  He only went to see her when he needed information, when he needed her help with his work as the Hood.  He hadn’t wanted them to become something like friends.  So when weeks elapsed between his visits, and he found himself craving her company, Oliver told himself he just missed the skin-on-skin contact, that feeling of intimacy between them.  But once she joined the team, he thought more interaction with her would ease that craving, even if they weren’t sleeping together.

It hadn’t, though.  In fact, it was getting worse.  Being around her all the time, having her voice in his ear when he was out in the field, seeing the way her face lit up when she saw him walk into the Foundry, brightening up the dim and dark basement . . .

With the way he felt, it was getting harder and harder to be logical about this.  To remember why he had agreed with Felicity about not being together.  Now that she knew his secret, it would be too dangerous--for him and for her--when he would inevitably fuck things up if they tried to be more than partners.  

And it would be even more dangerous if they did work.  If there was someone in his life who knew both sides of him, Oliver Queen and the Hood, who accepted both sides of him . . . 

Oliver felt his heart pound in his chest and he took a swallow of tequila.  He couldn’t--he couldn’t seriously be contemplating this, could he?  Asking Felicity to give him, to give  _ them _ , a chance?  

No.  No, he couldn’t think like this.  It was the tequila, the adrenaline, the proximity.  He was being weak, thinking like this.  Because he needed Felicity too much as a partner to make her something more.  To make her everything.  

“Oliver?”

The way he startled at Digg’s voice proved how weak he was being.  Because how could he let himself lose awareness of his surroundings, let himself get so immersed in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed Digg standing up and turning to talk to him?

“Yes?” he said, looking up at his bodyguard.  His bodyguard who definitely looked both amused and concerned.  

“I’m going to take Felicity home.  She’s on my way,” Digg explained, gesturing to Felicity who was leaning against his side, her eyes closed.  “Unless you want me to drive you home, too . . .”

Shaking his head, Oliver set down his glass and stood as well.  “No . . . I think I’m going to make a quick patrol.  Just to see how things are.”  

“Is that a good idea?” Felicity asked, her eyes opening and locking on him.  She gestured to his glass on the table.

Her concern made him feel warm all over.  And that, as much as everything he was trying not to think about, showed him how dangerous she was to him.

“I'll be fine,” he told Felicity, who gave him a sleepy yet dazzling smile.

“Good night.  See you tomorrow!” Felicity exclaimed as Digg started leading her away.

Oliver watched them leave, Digg's large form supporting Felicity's slender figure.  He would be fine on his own--it was just what he needed right now.  Some time to clear his head, to remind himself of why he was doing this.  A patrol through the Glades, just him and his bow, would do that.

XXX

As a slender girl, two years younger than her mostly-male classmates, Felicity had quickly learned how to hold her liquor.  What was enough to get her tipsy, how many more drinks would move her past that, and when to know if it was safe to go that far.  But drinking after facing the risk of nearly having her head blown off meant her old rules hadn’t worked.  Only two margaritas had made her feel floaty and adrift . . . and thankful she wasn’t drinking alone.  Admittedly, if Digg and Oliver hadn’t taken her up on her offer of a drink, she would have just gone home and killed a bottle of wine by herself. 

But she was glad they had come with her.  Glad she didn’t have to be alone tonight.  

Even though she felt pleasantly buzzed from the drinks, she knew she wouldn’t be sleeping any time soon.  Not with all the thoughts crowding her mind.  About nearly dying, about her life up until now, about how she was like Cooper now--but also wasn’t.  About being a member of a team.  And about Oliver.  There were a lot of thoughts about Oliver.  

Finishing her first glass of water, Felicity refilled it and sipped it slowly, gazing out the small window over the kitchen sink.  Her apartment was on the edge of the Glades--ironically enough, it was almost equidistant from Queen Consolidated and the Arrow Cave.  Like she was meant to be a member of the team. 

Which was ridiculous.  That sounded too much like believing in fate or destiny, neither of which Felicity accepted.  She was a product of her choices: to study hard, to leave Las Vegas, to turn her back on hactivism after Cooper, to go along with Oliver’s strange requests.  It was the only way she was like Han Solo.  Because no mystical energy field controlled her destiny.    

Her lips turned up and she shook her head.  She had to be tipsy if she was equating herself with Han Solo.  Maybe that was what she should do: take a shower and watch  _ The Empire Strikes Back _ until she fell asleep.  It was probably a little strange to not watch _ A New Hope _ , but  _ Empire  _ was her favorite.  After all, every girl’s first ship was Han Solo and Princess Leia.  And right now, Felicity could use a great love to take her mind off things.  Plus, lightsabers.  

Setting the empty glass in the sink, Felicity padded towards her bedroom, stretching a little as she went.  She almost wished she had asked Digg to partially unzip her dress, but that seemed a little forward.  Now, if it had been Oliver who had brought her home--

Felicity squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.  No.  She would not think about Oliver like that.  How could she, when they had disagreed on practically her first day on the team?  But she just couldn't stand by and let Oliver go after some poor man who had made a mistake.  A man who was a single father.  Ken Williams was the kind of person the names in Oliver's notebook exploited, the kind of person Oliver was supposedly trying to help.  If Oliver had hurt or killed him . . . it would make Oliver no different from the men on the List.

And Oliver  _ was _ different.  Even though he had grown up in that world, his years on the island had changed him.  Or maybe those years had just developed some quality he already had--a quality she had seen glimmers of five years ago--a need for justice and fairness that would have been left unexpressed if he hadn't been shipwrecked.

Or maybe that quality would have developed, Felicity thought as she struggled to unzip her dress.  Maybe he would have grown up, become an upstanding member of the community, worked at Queen Consolidated.  Gotten married to Laurel Lance and had a family.

The what-ifs when it came to Oliver were almost enough to make her think destiny or the Force really existed.  Wasn't that strange?  Or maybe the strange thing was in all those different universes, she still couldn't imagine one where it was believable that she and Oliver were something real.

Grimacing, Felicity lowered her arms.  It hadn't been this hard to zip up the dress--why was she having so much trouble getting it off?

_ And you call yourself a genius _ , a sarcastic voice in her head chided her.  A voice that sounded a lot like her old hactivist self.   _ You think you couldn't land some rich pretty boy, the one you’ve had several times already and could have again in a heartbeat, and suddenly you can't get your dress off.  Very Freudian of you, Smoak _ .

Felicity glared at herself in the mirror.  “I am a genius,” she said, not caring how childishly stubborn she sounded.  Or that she was literally arguing with herself out loud.  “And what, now you think I should be with Oliver?  You were the one who ran out on him five years ago.”

Because Felicity might not be the most self-aware person, but she had learned a few things about herself over the years.  Namely, when things got complicated or scary, the door became her new best friend.  It was easier, safer, to run than to stay.

Just like she had done when she had left a sleeping Oliver.

That mental voice was quiet for a long time.  Long enough that Felicity went back to working on the zipper.

_ Leaving was a mistake.  Because it was putting a wall up.  Just like you're doing now _ .

“Argh!”  The frustration--with her dress, with the Oliver situation, with her brain itself--made Felicity let out a cry of anger.  She stomped her foot.

“Look what happened when the wall came down for Cooper!  And I didn't feel for Cooper half what I feel for Oliver!  Then or now!  And you're telling me I should do it again?”

Oliver was larger than life, charismatic and powerful--like something out of a movie.  And she was not like that at all.  Yeah, she was a hacking badass.  Yeah, she could play dress-up for a night and almost look like she belonged in his world.  But her place in that world was fixed.  She was the sidekick, the partner.  Felicity was the hero of her own story, but that didn't mean she could also be the love interest in Oliver's story.

_ Because getting hurt is the risk you take if you want to be happy.  If you want to live.  Aren't you tired of just getting through the day, Felicity? _

This was crazy.  Totally and completely crazy.  She was having an argument with herself, like crazy people did.  Maybe there had been something wrong with her drink.  Maybe it was the combination of a depressant like alcohol with a stimulant such as adrenaline.  Maybe she was on the verge of cracking up.  But . . . but she just couldn't accept there could be more with Oliver.

After all, he was more than a little crazy, too.  Broken and lost and damaged . . . 

Felicity frowned as she ran her hands through her hair, straightening the curls she had painstakingly created only eight hours ago.  Was Oliver that crazy, though?  Unconventional in his approach, sometimes unpredictable in his responses, but--but for someone who had gone through what he had, he seemed pretty sane to her.  And getting better, even.  Like having her be part of the team, along with Digg.  If Oliver was crazy, wouldn't he have just tried to keep crossing the names off his List, without any help, just like he must have planned?  

Sighing, Felicity plopped down on her bed, her head in her hands.  She could feel a headache forming, but she wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or Oliver causing it.

Had she . . . had she decided to hold Oliver at arm’s length, once she knew he was the Hood, because she was scared?  Scared of getting hurt?  Scared her by admiration of him and by her interest in him becoming something bigger and deeper?  

Scared of loving him?  Loving  _ all _ of him, both Oliver Queen and the Hood.  Man and symbol, heart and body.  Because if she did give in, accept all of Oliver and find out whether that spark between them was capable of being more, only for the spark to be snuffed out?  It would hurt.

It would hurt more than she had ever been hurt before.

Felicity sighed and ran her hands through her hair one last time.  She would get her dress off, shower, and go to bed.  That was what she had planned to do all along, and it was a good plan.

But that plan never came to fruition.  Because when she lifted her head out of her hands, she let out a yelp at what she saw.

Oliver was sitting on her fire escape, still dressed in his leather suit and cloth hood.

XXX

If a person did what Oliver was doing right now, they'd be considered insane.  And Oliver himself wasn't sure if they would be wrong in calling him that.

Because he had so many reasons to not be perched outside Felicity's window, watching her sit on the edge of her bed, looking dejected and defeated, but also strong and beautiful in her sadness.  Her hair was frizzing out and her dress looked rumpled and out-of-place, but she still took his breath away.

He had tried.  He had really tried, while out on his patrol, to remember when being alone was the norm.  To tell himself if he attempted to have more with Felicity, it was likely he would end up alone again.  Because what did he know about relationships?  He was bound to ruin whatever connection there was between them.  And if he fucked things up, he knew Digg would be upset.  He would be justified in his initial assessment of Oliver: that he was a killer, a murderer.  Not just of people, but of souls, too.

Hell, if things went wrong with Felicity and Digg, he would be lucky if he was left all alone.  Because what would stop them from going to the police, identify Oliver Queen as the vigilante, and provide eyewitness proof of his crimes?

And if they did that, Oliver wouldn't fight the charges.  If he lost the faith, the confidence, the trust of Felicity and John . . . he really would be a monster.  One that should be locked up.

Even though he should remember the need to accept what he had, his patrol made him keep thinking about how much more he could have.  

It shouldn't work like that.  Where did this strange feeling come from?  This sense that maybe, with Felicity, if he worked harder than he ever had before, he might be able to pull off caring for her.

That he might be able to love her.

The thought was so earth-shaking, Oliver nearly lost control of his bike.  But what if?  What if he could make it work with Felicity?

This wasn't about sex.  Yes, his times with Felicity had been amazing, but not from anything that she had done, really.  Objectively speaking, he had bedded hotter women.  Conventionally attractive women, women who knew all kinds of tricks in bed.  But none of those women had made him feel what he felt just talking with Felicity.  There was something intimate and intense and  _ real _ with her.  Because of the kind of person she was: incredibly intelligent, forthright, independent, full of humor and kindness and warmth . . .

God, how had he gotten so lucky?  To have met her once and share an incredible night together, share an experience he wasn't ready for--and that she wasn't ready for, either, he thought--only for them to meet again, five years later?  When they had both changed, when they each were at a point when they might be ready for a second chance?  A second chance, one that could be for more than just sex?

He knew what it was like to have sex with Felicity.  Their couplings in her office had been incredibly hot, to the point where he often could think of nothing but the feel of her skin, the sound of her moans . . .

Swallowing, Oliver steered his bike into an alley, letting it idle as he tried to get a handle on himself.

It would be one thing if it was just sex.  But it was more, too.  All their interactions in her office, when he learned she was Jewish and so damn smart.  That first night together in the Foundry when she had waited for him to wake up, in more ways than one.  Dinner at Big Belly, seeing immediately how she could help the team.  Her work in the field, rising to the occasion in spite of her fear for her life.  Their drinks earlier tonight, when she had attempted to pull him out of his brooding.  When she had reminded him that they had won.

That was what he needed.  Hope, optimism, courage--all of which Felicity had . . .

He needed Felicity.  In every way.  She opened his eyes to other possibilities, made him want to see people as something other than targets or threats.  She made it easier to be Oliver--made him better.  As a vigilante and as a man.

And he didn't want to wait another minute to start becoming the man he felt like he could be, if he had Felicity in every part of his life.

Yes, she had broken things off with him when she had joined the team.  Nothing had changed about the importance of what they did, the need to keep things from getting messy.  But nearly losing Felicity tonight, when there was still so much he wanted to learn about her . . . it made him willing to take the risk.  Made him willing to try, to be better, so that this could work.

Oliver took a deep breath.  Then he turned his bike around and started driving to Felicity's apartment.  Tonight was probably not a good time to have this conversation.  She had been close to drunk when she left with Digg, and they both had plenty of adrenaline left in their systems.  At least, his heart was pounding in his chest.  

But now that he knew how he felt . . . he just needed to check up on her.  To make sure she was all right.  That was all he hoped for: to know that she was okay.

That didn't mean he didn't want more.  Didn't find himself wishing, as he parked his bike and climbed her fire escape, that he wouldn't find her sleeping.  That maybe, she might want to see him, too.

Maybe she might want him, too. Might even need him.

And when he saw her, Oliver felt a surge of emotion.  A desire to protect her, to help her, to love her, that dwarfed every good reason and shred of logic.

That was how he knew.

Oliver Queen was in love with Felicity Smoak.

XXX

“Eep!” Felicity exclaimed when she realized sometime was on her fire escape. Almost at the same moment, she realized it was Oliver.

Leaping to her feet, she dashed to the window and fumbled with the latch.  She pushed up the window, shivering as the cold air washed over her skin, and hissed, “What are you doing here, dressed like  _ that _ ?”

He had to know how dangerous it was to climb a woman's fire escape, right?  Not simply as a man, but as the Hood, too!  His credibility with the public was so low; if any of her neighbors spotted him, they would definitely call the SCPD.  Considering his rap sheet, maybe Oliver didn't think it was a big deal to add voyeurism to his list of crimes, but Felicity did.

And no, she wasn't overreacting to avoid thinking about why Oliver was here  _ at all _ .  This was a perfectly reasonable line of thought.

Much more gracefully than any man that large should, Oliver climbed in through the window, not even knocking his quiver against the glass.  Felicity quickly closed the window and looked at him.  “Well?” she asked him, her eyes narrowed.

His hands hung at his sides, his bow in one hand and the fingers on his other hand rubbing against each other.  He opened his mouth, then cleared his throat.  “I'm sorry to come so late, but . . . but after tonight, I had to make sure you were okay.”

Felicity let out a breath, her shoulders slumping slightly.  “Oliver, I only had two drinks.  I'm fine, I--”

“Not because of that,” he said, shaking his head.  “Because of the Dodger.”

Ready to gently scold him for being overprotective about her drinking, the words dried up in her mouth when she realized what this was really about.  How she could have died tonight.

Swallowing, Felicity tried to put on a smile.  “Thank you, Oliver, but--but I'm okay.  I promise.”

He didn't look all that reassured, but at least his little finger tic slowed down.  “Would you tell me if you weren't?”

“Would you tell me?”

She winced at how she sounded.  Not confrontational, which she could have handled even if it was bad timing.  Not flirty, which would be sending serious mixed messages.  No, her words sounded . . . tired.  A little sad.  And scared.

Scared that her little rebound fling had turned out to be so much more complicated than she could have imagined.  Not a rebound, but something much more.  Scared that she had fallen for a man who could never let her in.  Who belonged more to a city than he ever could to one woman--certainly not a woman like her.  Scared that she was all alone in her feelings for Oliver, because sex was one thing.  This was something else.  

Because . . . God, he was just so impressive.  Standing before her, wrapped in leather that outlined his muscles, showcasing all the coiled power of his body.  The bow in his hand, the quiver of arrows on his back, the little arrows strapped to his wrist.  And topping it off, the hood over his head and the greasepaint over his eyes.  

Seeing him like this, it caused a flutter in her belly.  Made her wonder if she had made a mistake by putting an end to the benefits.  Wouldn’t it be amazing to have him take her like this, when he was dressed as the Hood--

_ No.  You don’t want part of him _ .

Felicity frowned at the voice in her head.  Not again--one argument with herself was enough for the night.  But . . . but maybe this wasn’t an argument.  Because she couldn’t deny it was the truth.  She didn’t want part of Oliver.

She wanted all of him.  

“I . . . I don’t know.”  

Oliver’s voice drew her out of her head.  It took her a moment to remember what they had been talking about.  

“Well, I guess until you know the answer, Oliver, we’d better call it a night,” Felicity said, rolling her shoulders and then looking down at her dress with a sigh.  “If only I could get out of this dress.”  

From the angle of his head, she thought Oliver was confused, so Felicity waved a hand in the air as she turned to open the window again.  “Never mind.  I’ll see you tomorrow night, Oliver--”

“Wait.”  

Now she was the one who was confused.  Looking at Oliver, she watched in surprise as he lifted his free hand up and pulled his hood back, revealing his face to her.  His hand gripped his bow, almost like it was a reflex, but then he carefully leaned it against the wall.  

“You--you said how important it is, what we’re doing.  And it’s true, it is important.  It’s why I came back to Starling City . . . it’s how I survived.  The thought of coming home and righting the wrongs my father caused,” Oliver said, his eyes freezing her in place.  Because how could she look away, when he was so focused on her?  When such intensity was directed at her?

“Yes . . .” she acknowledged slowly, feeling that flutter in her stomach again.  

“And when I came back, I thought I was going to be alone in this crusade.  But I couldn’t do it.  I needed help,” he said, speaking slowly, like he was choosing his words carefully.  Or maybe he hadn’t planned what he was going to say and he was flying by the seat of his pants.  

And she really wished she hadn’t thought about his ass in those pants.  But all her instincts were starting to rise up inside her, telling her something big was about to happen.  Something so big, her only refuge was distracting herself from the power of Oliver’s words.  

She didn’t want to be distracted, though.  Swallowing, she pushed aside everything but Oliver.  Focused on him like he was on her.  If her life was going to change, she wanted to be fully prepared for it.  She didn’t want to miss a moment of this.  

“Digg was the first step.  And then . . . I walked into your cubicle.”  

His voice was so deep, it sent shivers through her.

“I walked into your cubicle, knowing only your name, and I was already thinking about the night five years ago.  It had been a one-night stand, but I remembered you.  Remembered your name, remembered what it had been like,” Oliver said.  “And then I saw you, and realized the Felicity Smoak Walter had told me about was the same Felicity from that night.”  

He paused, a smile flashing across his face for a moment.  “What are the chances?”

“Astronomical,” Felicity said in a whisper.  

Nodding, Oliver kept going.  “At first, I was going to abort.  Find someone else to help me.  But . . . I wanted to see how you had changed.  Beyond your hair and your clothes.  I--I could tell that you had to have gone through something.  Something painful, which I’m not asking you to tell me,” he said in a rush.  “Not with how I have a hard time talking, too.”  

This was all too much.  Her brain felt like it was falling behind with everything Oliver was telling her.  He had remembered her?  With how many one-night stands the old Oliver had partaken in, how had he remembered her?  And then for him to be referred to her by Walter, like some kind of British fairy godfather . . . 

“Seeing you . . . you were different from everyone else.  It wasn’t because I knew you before I sailed away on the Gambit,” Oliver continued.  “I couldn’t look at you and see a threat.  I only saw . . . you.  Felicity.”  

Her heart was pounding.  Her palms were sweating.  And her mind was racing.  Because . . . did he mean--was he saying . . . ?

“What are you saying, Oliver?”  Her voice shook a little and she took a gulp of air.  

It shouldn’t be possible, but Oliver’s eyes grew even more intense.  He took another step towards her, so close that if she breathed out, their chests would touch.  

“I know you said no more sex, but--but that’s not what I want.  That’s not all I want,” Oliver said, his eyes not even blinking as they bore into her.  “When I’m with you, when you look at me, I feel like . . . like I’m becoming a better man.  Like you help me be capable of being more.”

His eyes ran over her face slowly, taking in what must be an utterly shocked expression.  And then he kept going.  Shocking her with all these words.  

“Nothing about us has been conventional or uncomplicated or normal, not from the moment we met.  Nearly six years ago.  But--but, Felicity, I want more.  With you.  If . . . If you would be willing to try.  With me.  To be more with me.”  

Oliver’s chest was rising and falling like he had just run a marathon.  Both his hands were twitching at his sides.  And his eyes . . . his eyes were burning with emotion and passion and hope, so clear and visible in spite of the greasepaint.  

Felicity had never been so confused in her life.  

XXX

This was a new experience for him.  He had never stood in front of a woman with his heart in his hands, asking her to be with him.  But wasn’t that just how it was when he was with Felicity, though?  Whenever he was around her, life was something different and unexpected.  But never in a bad way.

Except maybe now?  Because he had put all his cards on the table and he didn't know whether she would see his bet or fold.  Tell him yes, she wanted to try, or say no and ask him to leave.

If she did the latter, Oliver vowed he would do everything he could to forget tonight.  To bury this deep inside him, so Felicity would keep working with him.  If he could only have her as a teammate, he would take it.  For the city's sake.  And maybe he would still be able to become that better man, and maybe she might change her mind someday . . .

Which was not likely to happen, he knew.  But he had to pretend it could happen, just so he didn't pressure Felicity right now.  So she could make the right decision for herself.  He could only hope she believed him.  That she could see the sincerity in him.

“Oliver . . .” she breathed out, staring up at him with those big blue eyes of hers.  Amazing eyes, full of intelligence and determination . . .

Oliver didn't know what to say.  Didn't know what her soft whisper of his name meant.  He could only keep looking at her, taking in her beauty, her courage, her strength.

“This--this is not how I expected tonight to go,” Felicity said, her voice shaking a little.  “With you showing up like this and just . . .”

Shit.  He should have gone back to the Foundry and changed his clothes.  Washed off the greasepaint, stowed his bow and quiver.  How could Felicity say yes to him, when dressed like this he looked every inch the remorseless vigilante killer?

He was such an idiot.  Why couldn't he have just stopped to  _ think _ ?

Swallowing, he told himself to step back from her, to tell her he understood, to leave and get the space he needed so he could come to terms.

“Why tonight?”

“What?” he asked, shocked by her question.

Felicity's eyes pinned him in place.  “Why tonight?  Is this--is this just about wanting some ‘thank God you’re alive’ sex?  And you think you have to ask for more to get that?”

“What?  No!” he exclaimed, making Felicity’s eyes go wide as she stepped back from him.  Oliver took a deep breath.  “No,” he repeated, this time in a more normal tone of voice.  “No, Felicity.  I wouldn’t lie to you like that.  Not just to get sex from you.  Not--not to manipulate you.”  

“But you’d lie to protect me, wouldn’t you?  To protect yourself?” Felicity asked, lifting her chin.

God, she was the most frustrating woman . . . Oliver ran his hands over his head, trying to keep himself calm.  So he could be as honest as he could be with her.  

“Maybe,” he admitted.  “But I can work on that.  It’s up to you to decide if I’m worth it.  If what we could have would be worth it.”  

Not looking away from her, Oliver once again moved closer to her.  “I just . . . I want to know if you’re willing to risk it.  I know I’m broken.  But I’m changing.”  

She wrapped her arms around herself.  “And--and you think--what you’re saying is that--all I am is the feather to help you fly?  Until you realize you don’t need me and you go back to Laurel or find someone else?”

Oliver narrowed his eyes in confusion before the reference clicked.   _ Dumbo _ .  The elephant who didn’t believe he could fly unless he had his lucky feather--only to realize he had never needed the feather in the first place.

Was that how she saw herself?  Like she herself didn’t matter, as long as she was serving as some kind of symbol that he could do this with so he could find love after all?  And someday, he would realize that and replace her with Laurel?  Like anyone could take her place.  If that was what she had gotten from all he had said here tonight--God, he had totally fucked this up.  

And he had to make her see the truth.

“No--I don’t need you as some mind trick to help me be better.  That’s not what you are to me,” he said, feeling like this was all slipping away.  Feeling the panic claw at him, until he had to be as clear and as simple as he could be, so she could see what he meant.  

“Felicity,” he growled, “I want  _ you _ .  I need  _ you _ .”

He could see the muscles moving in her throat.  Had he made it worse, by sounding like the Hood?  Making it seem like he was demanding her consent, when he hadn’t wanted her to feel pressured?  Fuck, couldn’t he get  _ anything  _ right?

“Okay--okay, that, that voice is--it’s really working for me, but . . . but I just need you to  _ stay _ \--stay right there!”  

Blinking, Oliver watched her disappear through a door, into what was probably a bathroom.  Leaving him standing in the middle of her bedroom, wondering what the hell was going on and what it meant that his Hood voice ‘worked for her’ and why had he tried to sway her in the first place?  Couldn’t he have stuck with the status quo a bit longer, until he could see if she felt something real for him?  

Maybe he should just leave--

Before he could do more than think about grabbing his bow and exiting through the window, Felicity reappeared.  She stepped right up to him and lifted a damp washcloth to his face.  He started to jerk back in surprise, only for her to gently cup the back of his head, holding him in place.  And then, Felicity carefully and tenderly and gently began to wipe away the greasepaint from around his eyes.

XXX

There was no doubt about it.  She was definitely certifiable.  Because . . . because she was ready to listen to a vigilante and a voice in her head and believe that she, Felicity Smoak, was someone that Oliver Queen wanted.  Needed.  

Maybe even loved.  

And to prove she was crazy, the first thing she wanted to do was to wipe off the greasepaint from his face, from around his crazy beautiful eyes, so she could really see him, could see his full reaction when she told him yes.  Yes, she wanted him.  Yes, she needed him.  Yes, she was ready to try.  Yes, she would take this risk, because not taking it was an even bigger risk.  To her heart, to her soul, to her everything.  

So she carefully cleaned the greasepaint from his face, thinking distractedly it was like she was putting together the two sides of him.  Oliver Queen and the Hood.  Man and vigilante.  He was both of them; he couldn’t draw a neat and tidy line between those elements of himself.  Not since he started building a team around himself, not since he started going after criminals who weren’t on the List . . . not since he came to her and asked her to be more with him.  

When every trace of green was gone from his skin, Felicity met his gaze, the washcloth cold and clammy in her hand.  “Yes.”  

He blinked, little beads of water caught in his eyelashes.  “Yes?”  

“Yes,” she said, feeling butterflies break free in her stomach and a huge smile appear on her face.  “I want you, Oliver.  I need you.”  

She was pretty sure he started smiling, too, but she couldn’t tell.  There wasn’t a lot of time between her finishing speaking and him wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against him for a long, slow, soul-changing kiss.  

Dropping the washcloth, not caring if it left a damp spot on her carpet, Felicity wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back.  Her fingers pressed hard against the leather covering his back, her lips greedily meeting his and her eyes slipping closed at the absolute pleasure and happiness filling her up. 

It was only their second kiss since they had reunited.  It left their first kiss and every other kiss in the dust.  Felicity could only hope that would always be the way it was with Oliver: each kiss  better than the last.  

With how his arms slightly trembled around her, with he was pressing against against her, with how he just couldn’t stop kissing her . . . Felicity thought it would always be like this.  

But first . . . she wanted to make love with him.  Not fuck or screw or have sex or whatever they had done before.  Make love.  

End, Chapter 5


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this isn’t the length of the other chapters in this fic, it’s not really an epilogue--since it’s continuing right on from the last chapter. Honestly, none of this really matters--I just hope y’all enjoy this final chapter!
> 
> Many thanks to acheaptrickandacheesyoneline for her invaluable beta-reading, to andcreation for being a first reader and making a great graphic for this fic, and to all of you who took the time to reblog, comment, like or leave kudos. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you’ll let me know if you liked how I wrapped up this series! It’s been such a pleasure to write all these different conclusions to Women’s Studies and I’m so grateful for all the support I’ve received.

**** Felicity didn’t know how she had held back from kissing Oliver before now.  Although he had initiated both of their kisses in this second chapter for them--which meant she had some work to do if she was going to catch up.  And oh, what wonderful work . . .

Going up on her tiptoes, she pulled Oliver closer by sliding her hands up his back to his shoulders, very grateful he had shrugged off the quiver at some point when they had started kissing.  She lightly nipped at his lower lip, then pulled it into her mouth and sucked slowly.  Oliver’s groan vibrated from his chest to hers, making her let go of his lip with a smile.  “Did that feel good?”  

He brushed his nose against hers, then slowly dragged his lips over her cheek and along her jaw.  Her hands clenched his shoulders, trying not to swoon, as he whispered in her ear, “Hmm . . . maybe.  How about you do it again so I’m sure?”

Unable to help herself, Felicity let out a laugh that was almost a giggle.  Who knew Oliver could be so flirty, but in a fun way?  A light, happy way?  

And then he drew her earlobe into his mouth and started to suck and Felicity groaned.  Okay, maybe not so light and fun--but she was just fine with that.  

She was fine with all of this: being with Oliver, trying to have an actual relationship with him, working with him to save the city while they made each other better . . . it sounded amazing.  Scary, but amazing.  Or maybe the scary mattered less since she knew they were in this together.  

If Oliver hadn’t said he wanted and needed her, in that raspy voice he must use when facing off against criminals . . . Felicity had been so unsure.  Wanting to believe he meant it, but worried that maybe it was just temporary, that he only wanted her until he got better and he could find the real love of his life.  But when Oliver had gritted out the words she had ended up repeating to him, she knew this was real.

So it was time to stop thinking and just feel.  Savor the feelings she had made herself deny before, take advantage of the privacy of her bedroom to strip off Oliver’s clothes and explore his body after he had flaunted it in front of her.  Seriously--using the sticks on that dummy, shirtless and sweaty, the muscles of his back tensing and relaxing?  He had totally been trying to seduce her, and after he hadn’t let her even unbutton his shirt when they had been having sex!

Admittedly, once she had seen his back, seen the scars and burns, she could understand why he hadn’t wanted to reveal them to her.  But now she had the chance to show him how the marks on his skin just made her admire him more.  Respect the suffering he had endured and was blown away by his courage.  By his ability to take risks.  Letting her see the truth.

He was worth every risk.  

Taking advantage of Oliver sucking on her ear and kissing her neck--because it let her get all the air she needed--Felicity ran her hands over his shoulders and back, drifting down and then moving to his sides.  She could feel all his muscle, even through the leather.  But she wanted to get his jacket off, take off the black tee that would be underneath, so she could feel his skin.

Slowly, she found the bottom of the zipper and slid her hand up the track.  It might be her imagination, but she thought she felt a flutter under her fingers.  Oliver definitely paused in his exploration of her neck with his tongue, resting his forehead against hers and panting.  

Felicity wrapped her fingers around the tab of the zipper, then looked up at Oliver through her lashes.  “Okay?” she asked softly.  

He nodded, one quick jerk of his head.  Felicity smiled at him, reaching up to lightly kiss him, before she slowly began drawing the zipper down.  “Do you have any idea how hot you are in all this?” she asked, moving her free hand to press gently against the center of his chest.  “You should know you’re really, really hot.  But I still want to take all your clothes off.”  

A multitude of emotions swirled in Oliver’s eyes.  “Even with what I do while I’m wearing this?”  

“Righting wrongs?  Saving people?  Making a difference in this city?” she asked him, the words tumbling out of her.  

His mouth fell open as he stared at her.  She gave him a soft smile and moved her hand to his chin, lightly pushing up so his lips were together before she kissed him slowly.  

After a moment, he came to life, his lips moving against hers.  His hands ran over her, going to her ass and squeezing hard.  She was torn between moaning and kissing him.  And then he lifted her up, making her break away and gasp.  “Oh, God--”  She wrapped her legs around him and Oliver’s hands flexed against her ass, which felt even better.  

“Felicity . . .” he breathed out, taking two steps so her back was against the wall by her bathroom door.  

“Yes--Oliver, yes,” she told him, pushing his jacket off.  Leaning back against the wall, she reached down, tugging his shirt out from the waistband of his pants and drawing it over his head.  Carefully, Oliver drew first one arm, then the other, out of the sleeves of the shirt.  And then she could see his chest, and he took her breath away.  She had caught glimpses of it the other day, yes, but now it was inches away from her, close enough for her to touch, and she was most definitely going to touch.  

Tightening her legs around his waist, she delicately smoothed her fingertips over his skin.  Other than the barest trembling in his muscles and his eyes blinking, Oliver didn’t move.  He let her touch him, tracing his scars, following the line of his pecs, dipping in each little divot of his abs.  

“I--I can’t believe you’re real,” she whispered, looking at him.  

“That’s how I feel about you,” Oliver said, nuzzling her.  “I can’t wait to get you out of this dress--as amazing as you look in it.”  

“You noticed?” she asked, her hands pausing against him and pulling back so she could look at him.

The corner of his mouth quirked up.  “Felicity, of course I noticed.  You were brighter than a star.  Plus, your legs looked a mile long.”    

“I . . . I wasn’t sure,” she said softly, sliding her arms around his neck and pulling him close to her.  

“Felicity,” he murmured, his breath washing over her lips.  “I can’t help noticing you.  I get around you and you’re all I see.”  

Well, that was ridiculously sweet and kinda sappy and very unexpected.  That deserved a really good kiss.  Felicity pressed her lips against his, moving slowly, letting her eyes drift shut so she could focus even more on how good this felt.  

The kiss started slow and sweet and almost chaste, but quickly the heat started building again.  Felicity felt the warmth pouring off Oliver, could feel her body growing loose and heavy, the sweat trickling down her back.  “Oliver,” she groaned, wiggling against him.  She dropped one hand to tug up her skirt over her hips, then arched her body so her center was pressing against his groin.  She could feel him through the leather, could feel how hard he was.  

“That--that must be uncomfortable,” she panted, rocking a little against him.  

A groan was Oliver’s only answer, dropping his head against her neck.  She grinned and pressed a kiss to his temple.  “Let me help you out,” she said, gripping him a little tighter with one arm before dragging her fingers down his chest and in-between their bodies.  

As soon as she touched the waistband of his pants, Oliver lifted his head.  His eyes were so dark they looked navy blue--but that was just the tip of the iceberg compared to what she saw in his eyes.  She had never seen him like this.  Like he wanted to devour her.  

His hand slid along her leg to her hip, and he yanked hard at the side of her thong.  The delicate lace ripped without a sound, making her stare at him.  He returned her stare, his eyes still dark and hungry and endless, as he yanked again and let the ruined undergarment drop to the floor.

That made her fingers fumble with the fastenings of his pants, her clumsiness causing her to curse under her breath.  And then, finally, she got the button and zipper open and his cock sprang free, and she gave him a soft stroke.  

“Oh, God, Felicity--condom!” he rasped out, making her hand tighten around him momentarily.  

Felicity moaned, her mind scattered as her body screamed for Oliver.  Didn’t he normally have one . . . ?  “I--I’m on the pill.  And I’m clean.  Are you?”

He looked utterly dazed but nodded.  “You--you’re sure?”  

“Uh-huh,” she said, stroking him again.  “I’m sure.  Very sure.  Absitively sure.”  

For some reason, her smushing together absolutely and positively made a huge smile break across Oliver’s face.  He leaned in and kissed her, and while their lips were still moving, Oliver began pushing inside her.  

And then she had to stop kissing him so she could breathe.  Because Oh. My. God.

XXX

If tonight didn’t have the ultra-sharp focus of a night he was burning into his memories, Oliver would think this was a dream.  But it was better than any dream he had ever had.  Kissing Felicity, holding Felicity, loving Felicity . . . it was perfect.  

Especially this moment: sliding into her slowly, nothing between them, the skin-to-skin contact making his whole body sing.  

She was so much softer than he had realized.  The reality of her without any barriers between them--emotional or physical--made him feel extra sensitive, caused him to wait an extra beat before he started moving.  Because otherwise, this would be all over.  

Using all his strength, he waited, then experimentally moved his hips.  Felicity let out a soft little hiss of a sigh, her eyes dreamy and so blue.  “Oliver . . .”  

Her hand slid into his hair and pulled him in for a kiss and he went willingly, needing to kiss her right now.  

There had been too many times he had thought about kissing her and hadn’t.  He wasn’t going to pass up a chance to kiss Felicity ever again.  After everything they had done together, the ways they knew each other’s bodies, kissing shouldn’t seem so intimate.  But it did.  Feeling the press of Felicity’s lips against his own, the sweetness of tasting her . . . it was like learning something new about her.  Or getting reacquainted with the woman he had met almost six years ago, a woman who had intrigued him.  

But that Felicity wasn’t nearly as captivating as the woman in his arms now.  The woman he was inside, moving slowly and deeply, working to make this good for her.  And for him.  

Although honestly, Oliver was pretty certain any time with Felicity would be good for him.  With how stunning she was, how engaging, how funny and smart and kind she was . . . she was everything.  

Her legs tightened around him and she rolled her hips jerkily as he drove into her.  “Oliver . . .”  

There was a slight edge of frustration to her voice, one that made him pause.  “Talk to me, Felicity,” he asked her, his hands gently pressing against her ass.  God, she was so fucking perfect--he wanted to make her feel that way, make her see how perfect she was.  

She looked at him, a little crinkle between her eyes, and let out a sigh as she brushed her fingers along his jaw.  “Faster, please?  I need--I need faster.  I need more.”  

Oliver had to smile.  “So polite,” he said, pressing a light kiss against her lips.  “Anything you want, I’ll give you.”  

An expression of slight skepticism appeared on Felicity’s face, which stoked his desires.  Not just to prove that he was sincere, but for her.  

Taking a step closer to the wall, he altered the angle of his cock entering her body.  He thrust in experimentally, seeing her eyes spark.  Now, when he slid into her fully, his cock brushed against her clit.  That was what he wanted, so Oliver began pistoning his hips as fast as he could, thrusting into her like she had requested.  

Felicity let out a yelp, scrambling to hold on to him.  “Oh my God!  Oh, oh, oh--holy shit, Oliver--can’t believe you--didn’t even take my fucking dress off--”  

It was probably strange, when he was slamming into a woman, to be grinning like an idiot.  But Oliver knew he was, because hearing Felicity talk like this was such a huge turn-on.  Yeah, she babbled a lot, but he thought that half the time, she did it to deflect people from questions she didn’t want them to ask.  The fact that she was babbling now, moans and swear words mixed together, made him feel like a god.  Made him remember that moment, the first time they had sex in her office.  How it felt to make Felicity come, to make her happy, and how it had let him feel like he was worth something.  That he wasn’t a disappointment.  

In the months since that encounter, he had wanted more of that feeling.  And if it hadn’t been for Felicity, he would have never realized what he wanted.  Wouldn’t have realized a lot of things.

He tried to kiss her, but with everything that was happening--his rapid-fire thrusts, Felicity talking non-stop filth, and both of them panting for air--there was no way for that kiss to be satisfying.  Leaning his face against her neck, he sloppily kissed her neck, then brought his lips to her ear.  

“Felicity, you feel so good,” he whispered.  It wasn’t like him to talk during sex, but . . . but this was different.  Actions just weren’t enough.  With everything he was feeling, he had to talk to her or he would explode.  

_ Although that was going to happen, too _ , he thought to himself, grinning a little at having such a Felicity thought.  And then she swiveled her hips, and all traces of humor fled from his mind.

“You’re amazing.  So fucking perfect,” he gritted out, gripping her ass harder.

“Oliver--God, don’t stop,” Felicity begged in a high, breathy voice.  “Keep going, don’t stop, oh--oh, right there!”  Her hands gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin.  She might even be drawing blood, but Oliver didn’t care.  Not when he was sinking into her warmth and softness, feeling her flutter around his cock, knowing she was on the verge of climaxing because of him.  

“Can’t stop,” he told her, trying to go even faster.  Feeling his control start to fray, knowing that he needed to bring Felicity off so he could let go.  His brain felt overwhelmed by everything his body felt, but somehow, he knew what to do.  

Leaning in, he took her earlobe into his mouth and sucked hard, hearing Felicity gasp loudly and her muscles clench around him.  It made him lose his rhythm, surprised him so much, that two things happened at once.  He thrust deeper than he intended and his teeth sunk into her ear.  

Felicity’s legs went slack around his hips.  Her fingernails stopped digging into his shoulders.  Even her pussy seemed to loosen around his cock.  And then, everything in her tightened, harder than before, her muscles tensing up and spasming.  She let out a loud, emphatic, cry.  “FUCK YES--OLIVER!”  

Nothing had ever sounded as good as his name, spoken like that, spoken by this woman.  Her whole body shook against him, the waves of her climax moving through her and transmitting her pleasure to him.  And so, it only took two shallow thrusts for him to come, just as hard as she had.  

“Felicity,” he grunted--or at least, he thought he did.  Oliver wasn’t certain.  The pleasure washing over him was so intense and all-encompassing, he wasn’t sure he was even speaking English anymore.  All that mattered was coming.  Coming, and not dropping Felicity.  

Slumping against him, Felicity was a tangle of arms and legs.  She breathed hard, hanging on to him, burrowing against him in fact.  It made him feel conscious of his strength in a different way from chasing after criminals.  Made him thankful for all the hard work, if it meant he could keep this woman safe and protected.  Even if she would probably slap him for thinking of her as something to be protected.  Would argue she could take care of herself.  

It was true--Felicity certainly could do a better job at that than he could.  But he wanted to cherish her and hold her, and he just had to hope he could make her see that without her feeling smothered.  

With how she fit in his arms, he couldn’t bear the thought of her not wanting to be there.  

A butterfly-soft kiss against his jaw made him sigh, and Felicity’s hands slowly stroked his shoulders.  “Mmmmm,” she whispered.  “You wanna lie down?  I must be heavy.”  

“Heavy?  No way,” he replied, taking in her face.  Her hair was utterly disheveled, her cheeks were flushed, and her lips looked slightly swollen.  But it was her eyes that captured all his attention.  Because they were sparkling with happiness and contentment.  Combined with her body, all loose and relaxed against him, Oliver felt peace wrap around him like a blanket.  

Leaning in, he kissed her softly as he turned, carrying her towards her bed.  

“Mmmm,” she hummed against his lips.  “Help me unzip my dress?  Now that I have you here, I don’t have to sleep in this.”  

Chuckling, Oliver carefully set Felicity on her feet, holding her until he knew she was steady.  Then he turned her so he could slowly unzip her dress.  “Have to say, I’ve slept in these pants, and they aren’t very comfortable, either.”  

“But they make your ass look spectacular,” Felicity said, looking over her shoulder and up at him with a brilliant smile.  

He let out a soft groan.  “Felicity . . .”  

Laughing softly, she pushed her dress off and then pulled back the covers on the bed, crawling on top of the sheets, as naked as the day she was born.  Which did not help the conflict between his ever-present desire for her and the exhaustion tugging at him.  He plopped down on the bed, his back to her, so he could unlace his boots.  And remind himself that he wasn’t some eighteen-year-old kid; he had a refractory period now.  Although his cock seemed unaware of that fact.

“I can’t believe I have you here.”  

Her voice was soft and a bit shy.  He wasn’t sure if she had meant to say that, or if she had only said it because he was facing away from her.  Mimicking her earlier move, he looked at her over his shoulder and smiled at her.  “Neither can I.”  

Toeing off his boots, Oliver rose to his feet and pushed his pants down, taking his boxer-briefs with them.  There was a loud inhale from behind him and he couldn’t help grinning.  Two could play at this game.  

His grin grew even wider when Felicity muttered, “You are exhausted.  You need sleep.  And cuddling is nice.”  

Oliver turned around to face her and nodded.  “I’ll take your word on it.  I don’t do a lot of cuddling.”  

The words were supposed to sound light and teasing.  But he didn’t quite pull it off.  A bit of sadness came through, making Felicity’s face grow soft.  She held a hand out to him.  “C’mere,” she said quietly, tenderly.  

It was the easiest thing he had ever done, taking Felicity’s hand.  Letting her tug him into her bed, wrapping his arms around her, feeling her curl in against him.  

And when he drifted off to sleep, he thought that tonight, he might not have any nightmares.  Because there couldn’t be a better charm against bad dreams than Felicity.

XXX

Last fall, Felicity had wondered if her life was becoming something kind of like a romance novel.  Not that she read them.  Not that she read many of them.  Yet it wasn’t hard to miss the signs.  After all, she had been having hot, steamy sex with a gorgeous, mysterious billionaire.  But then she had learned the truth about Oliver, and her life didn’t seem quite so much like a romance novel.  No, her life was much darker and more complicated than your typical Harlequin.  

The morning after proved that.  Instead of waking to sunshine pouring in through the windows, discovering that it hadn’t been a dream, that Oliver had told her he wanted to be with her and they had enjoyed the most amazing, rich, open sexual experience of her life . . . Felicity woke to the sound of rain against the windows and an empty bed.  

Sitting up, she blinked and winced.  Sleeping in contacts was never a good thing--she had meant to take them out last night, but then she couldn’t get her dress unzipped and Oliver appeared, so she had never removed them.  Although she couldn’t complain too much about that; being able to see Oliver’s face as he came, seeing the pleasure and bliss wash over his features . . . well, she would have hated to have missed that.  

Felicity frowned, wondering where Oliver was.  Could he have left?  No, there was the pants and jacket from his costume, spread out on her floor.  

Seeing that, a flutter of giddiness went through her.  Because it looked  _ right _ .  It looked perfect, in fact, seeing Oliver’s clothes on her floor.    

A clatter that sounded like it came from her kitchen made her jump.  And then, a softly whispered “fuck!” in a very familiar voice made her grin from ear to ear.  

Oliver was still here.  And in her kitchen, for some reason.  And cursing, which was kind of a turn-on.  

Not that there was anything he did that  _ wasn’t  _ a turn-on.

Since her life wasn’t a romance novel, Felicity didn’t wrap the sheet around her and head to the kitchen.  Because she wanted to keep her sheets right where they were: on her bed, waiting for them to come back.  

Her cheeks went pink as she got up and pulled on a pair of panties and Oliver’s shirt.  The scent of him on the fabric made her take a deep breath as she pulled the shirt over her head, letting out a sigh.  Next she hurried into the bathroom to take care of her needs, including taking out her contacts and rinsing her eyes.  Then, with glasses on and teeth brushed, Felicity walked slowly towards the kitchen, trying to keep her footsteps light.  

It was possible, by standing in the hallway, to look into her kitchen while staying mostly out of sight.  Felicity did just that, watching Oliver and feeling a combination of emotions that left her breathless.  

He was only wearing his boxer-briefs, leaving a vast amount of his body uncovered for her greedy eyes.  She almost didn’t know where to look first.  His wide shoulders?  The lines of muscles along his spine?  That amazing ass of his?  His long, strong legs?  

Most people would probably fixate on his flaws.  The scars that crisscrossed his back and made her heart clench.  The sloppily-done tattoo on his left shoulder.  The patch of burns across his lower back, just above his ass.  She did see all of them, but . . . but they were just part of Oliver.  Not nearly as compelling as the visible evidence of his strength.  And not nearly as compelling as everything she was learning about him.  Such as . . . Oliver could cook.  

Oliver Queen, billionaire, was standing in front of her stove, holding a spatula in one hand.  Whatever was cooking in front of him took all of his attention.  It must be, since Felicity doubted she could sneak up on him otherwise.  

Occasionally, he paused to lift up a mug and sip from it.  Just the fact that he had made coffee would be enough for Felicity to call this an excellent morning after, even if she had woken up alone.  But with him cooking breakfast for her . . . well, this was definite romance novel territory.  

“Good morning,” she said softly, leaning against the side of the doorway.  

“Hey,” Oliver said, glancing back at her.  Then he did a double-take, turning around to really look at her.  

His eyes started at the top of her head and slowly moved down her body.  His gaze was almost a physical feeling, a weight that made her want to fidget and twist her fingers in his shirt.  Which would pull the material taut over her puckering nipples.  Somehow, she kept her fingers still and let Oliver look at her.  It helped that the view of him was just as good from the front, keeping her busy and distracted.  

“You make my shirt look amazing.”  

Feeling her cheeks go red, Felicity ducked her head.  “I think you make your shirt look more amazing,” she said, pushing up her glasses.  

“I disagree,” he said, taking a long step towards her and leaning down to kiss her slowly, thoroughly, and perfectly.  

She gripped his forearm so she wouldn’t swoon like a schoolgirl, but Felicity was pretty sure she would never get used to being kissed by Oliver.  In fact, the only problem was that she started to smell something . . . 

Oliver suddenly stopped kissing her and turned around.  “Shit, the pancakes!”  He lifted the pan off the stove and sighed, before looking at her.  “Trash can?”  

Giving him a sympathetic smile, Felicity opened the cabinet under her sink to show him where he could discard the burned pancakes.  “If it helps, I would burn them even without a gorgeous man in my kitchen.  I didn’t even know I had pancake mix.”  

“You did,” he said, giving her a small smile.  “I thought . . . well, I thought pancakes would be nice.”  

Felicity stepped close to him, putting a hand on his shoulder to pull his attention to her.  “Pancakes are wonderful.  Like you.”  

Color bloomed high on his cheeks and he ducked his head.  Seeing such shyness in him made her want to coo over him--while also climb him like a tree.  Felicity settled for leaning up to kiss his cheek, and Oliver smiled at her and picked up a bowl that was half-filled with batter.  “There’s coffee--that was easy to do.”  

“And believe me, it’s appreciated,” she told him, stepping away to pour herself a cup.  

XXX

Taking in Felicity, bare feet and messy hair, wearing her glasses and his shirt, Oliver wasn’t sure if he had ever felt like this.  If he had ever felt so happy.  

Some part of him told him he shouldn’t trust this.  That instead of enjoying such domesticity, he should be sitting down with Felicity to figure out where their relationship was going, have the conversation about how public they were going to be, preparing Felicity for what it would be like to date a Queen, broaching the difficult subject of introducing her to his family . . . 

But that part of him, the voices that said they needed to be serious about this, were drowned out by Felicity’s soft, cheerful chatter.  Seeing her like this, with sleep still clinging to her and making her mind move at a pace more like most people’s, he couldn’t help smiling a little.  Bantering with her and responding to her little jokes.  Flipping pancakes and sharing how he learned to cook.  

Just being with her.  Being part of a couple.  Was it so wrong to want to enjoy this?  This was their first morning together--they had never had that before.  

And that thought made him stop what he was doing and look at her, interrupting her story about the place she went to for brunch on Sunday mornings.  

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up.”  

Felicity frowned, looking confused.  “Um, thanks?”  

He took a breath and flipped a pancake as he wondered if he should tell her.  Seeing the perfectly golden-brown color of the pancake, Oliver found the words slipping out.  “Our first time, waking up alone . . . it kind of knocked me down.  Not that I didn’t deserve it--I was an ass back then.  But today, I really thought you were going to be asleep for a while longer.  Long enough for me to finish breakfast.”  

Keeping his eyes on the pancakes, he still knew that Felicity was coming closer to him.  And then, her small hand ran over his back in a gentle caress.  “I’m sorry I didn’t stay,” she said softly, surprising him when she pressed a soft kiss in-between his shoulder blades.  “Back then . . . I had a lot of fear that I covered up with sarcasm and anger.  And you were very scary to me.”  

For some reason, he didn’t turn around to look at her.  “I was scary?”  What did she mean?  Was she worried about what he would do to her once he woke up?  Had he misremembered what their night together had been like?   

“Yes . . . because you were making me feel things I didn’t want to feel.  Little stirrings that made me think you were different from every man I had ever met.  But I knew it was more your potential I was responding to, I think--I don’t think you were ready to be the man I imagined you could be.”  Felicity’s voice was soft, and a little sad, but full of understanding.  “And I definitely wasn’t ready.  Not like I am now.”  

Slowly, he turned around, needing to face her.  “You are?”

She gave a determined nod.  “Yes.  I mean, it’s still a little scary, starting a new relationship with someone.  And I know things aren’t going to be simple with us.  I’m just an IT girl and you’re a billionaire.  Oh, and I’m also your partner while you run around the city in green leather.  So we’re not a traditional couple.  But . . .”  

When she didn’t finish her thought, Oliver had to ask.  “But?”  

“But,” she said, reaching her arms up to wrap around his neck.  “You’re a lot closer to the man I believed you would become.  Yes, even with the whole ‘being the Hood’ thing,” she said, meeting his objection before he could even voice it.  “Actually, you’ve exceeded all my expectations, so I know--I know that even if I’m scared, I’d be a lot more scared if I hadn’t said yes last night.”  

Oliver smiled slowly, feeling the same flare of admiration and attraction and wonder that Felicity seemed to provoke in him quite frequently.  Because here she was, talking about them when he had been trying to figure out how to broach the subject.  And her words and her actions, her resolution and spirit, made him happy to table this conversation until later.  

After all, the only clothes he had here was his Hood suit.  He couldn’t go out in daylight in it, even if it was gray and rainy today.  So he wouldn’t be leaving Felicity’s place until nightfall.

That was a lot of hours to fill.  He was sure talking would help them pass the time.  In-between round two, three, and possibly four, depending on whether you counted oral sex as a round.  Which Oliver did.  

Before that, though, he wanted to return Felicity’s vulnerability with his own.  

“Something about you stuck with me through the years,” he told her, his voice quiet.  “I’m not saying I thought about you every day, or when times got tough or anything.  But . . . you were like a little flame in my mind, always there even if I wasn’t really aware of it.  And that flame sparked a fire when I met you again, and now . . . just knowing you exist makes me feel warm.  Hopeful.  Happy.  You’re not a feather, Felicity.  You’re my light.”  

The smile that appeared on Felicity’s face was so happy and warm and amazing, Oliver just had to kiss her.  It was a need that went beyond anything he had ever felt.  

Yet this time, he moved in until his lips were nearly touching hers, and he waited for her to come the rest of the way.  

A relationship was about two people meeting in the middle and building something together.  He hoped this kiss was a symbol of that.  Because already, this was his best relationship ever, and he wasn’t about to let Felicity go any time soon.  

The way her arms tightened around his neck, he thought she felt the same way.  

“Felicity,” he said against her lips, “the pancakes.”  He pulled a hand away from her and moved the pan off the burner, not wanting a repeat of before.  

“They can wait,” she told him, only letting him turn off the burner before beginning to drag him back towards her bedroom.  “We haven’t made love in a bed in six years, and I can’t wait to see how it is.”  

Oliver let out a laugh and swept Felicity up in his arms, kissing her and carrying her, not unlike last night.  Because like her, he couldn’t wait to see how everything was with her.  Making love in a bed, having their first fight and making up, facing the difficult decisions about their life together, seeing how far they could take this thing between them.  

And since he didn’t want to wait to get started, they might as well get started now.

End.


End file.
